


Wounds Are All I'm Made Of

by DarkDreamsOfHannigram



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Romance, Slow Burn, poor chilton, post-mizumono
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 59,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDreamsOfHannigram/pseuds/DarkDreamsOfHannigram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick Chilton is recovering, and goes to see Will Graham in the hospital. They're Hannibal's survivors. So it's not absurd to think Will might offer him a little warmth. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Eight weeks; eight long weeks. He’d been conscious for six of them, having been in a medically-induced coma for two. The doctors had wanted the swelling that threatened his brain stem to go down before waking him up. Millimeters was all it had come down to; one or two more proximal to the spine and death or complete paralysis, soon leading to death from repeated bouts of pneumonia, would have been the result. And Miriam Lass was a good, trained shot. Likely the thick glass of the interrogation room diverted the bullet just so much; it was the only thing that had saved him.

And when he did wake up, that’s when the real nightmare began. He was slightly further from death’s door medically, but several leaps towards it legally. He’d been arrested as soon as he could speak and say he’d understood his Miranda rights. He’d be transferred to prison as soon as the doctors released him, tried, likely convicted, and put on death row. He hadn’t even contacted his lawyer. He’d sunk into a near-catatonic state of depression; given up. Lecter had set him up too well. The dead FBI agents; Abel Gideon, carved up; the fact that he’d ran and pulled a gun on Will Graham, even though he’d had no real intention of using it. It was over. All the years of medical school, re-tracking into psychiatry when the high-prestige profession of surgeon had been out of his reach. All the years of climbing to the position at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, collecting psychopaths, extracting things from them using questionable methods in order to publish ever more popular papers. All of it over now.

He’d brooded in this state until two weeks ago, when one morning, quite out of the blue, an FBI agent came into his room, removed the handcuffs from his bed rails, and told him he’d been exonerated. That Hannibal Lecter was on the run, and was, most definitely, the Chesapeake Ripper.

“How!” he’d spluttered, nearly pulling out his sutures. The agent called a nurse, who held him down and gave him a mild sedative. Once he’d calmed down, the agent told him the whole horrific tale. Jack Crawford, Alana Bloom, and Will Graham were at the same hospital being treated for their injuries; Abigail Hobbs, who had been missing but presumed dead, who had apparently survived up until that point, had been killed, for certain this time. There had been an unending stream of horrors pulled from Lecter’s house. Bits of people preserved as human meat in his freezers, an entire abattoir in his basement. No evidence that Chilton had a connection to any of it. He’d actually wept with relief.

Frederick Chilton couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. He’d assumed it was when he was a child, but had no specific recollection of it. He hadn’t when he washed out of his desired surgical career; nor even when Abel Gideon had cut him up, not even after he’d been set up by Lecter, or after he’d been shot. But today, the tears were ripped from him and felt as if they’d never stop. They were mostly of happiness, but were also for everything that had happened – and hadn’t happened – in his whole sad, lonely life. Even though he was now a free man, and would recover, this was hitting bottom for him.

Two weeks after that, he was well enough to leave the hospital. He couldn’t go home, now or ever. He decided to stay at a hotel while he made arrangements to sell the place. He was out of a job, as well; the Board of Trustees of the Baltimore State Hospital had replaced him, and he wouldn’t have wanted to go back there anyway. He even had his Jaguar cleaned, the bloody seats replaced, and sold. He drove a rented Prius of all damn things, until he could figure out what to replace his car with. His job, his house, his car...all had been affectations of a life he no longer wanted anything to do with. All he had to do was to figure out who he was now.

Part of that process, Chilton decided, would be to swallow his pride and pay a visit to Will Graham in the hospital.

Frederick was deeply embarrassed about his last interaction with Will. He’d gone to his house in Wolf Trap, to get help, and Graham had done the only thing he thought was right; and he’d pulled a gun on him, an innocent man. Chilton felt like a coward for that. But he knew that the only way he could go forward would be to see him, and to somehow apologize. He hoped, deep down, that he could find someone to share his rage and pain at being victimized by Hannibal Lecter; after all, it was something they had in common. Even down to the scars.

. . . . .

Will woke up after surgery with an unending list of confused, slurred questions that he tried to ask even before the anesthesia had completely worn off. But the hospital staff either didn’t know anything or didn’t want to tell him.

It was an agonizing two days of slipping between drugged sleep, nightmare fevers of sheer fright, and brief periods of wakefulness that were punctuated by being fed and searing pain. His questions were deflected until the third day, when they began to ease off on his medication, and Kade Prurnell herself came to see him and finally give him some answers.

Abigail was dead.

Alana was awake, but the fall had caused a brain injury that had blinded her. Permanently.

Jack would make a full recovery.

And Lecter had vanished like a ghost.

She’d reassured him that there was every likelihood that not only had he fled the country, but that INTERPOL would apprehend him eventually. To which Will had openly scoffed.

As for himself, the doctors finally told him that he’d suffer no permanent damage. The irony that he had an L-shaped scar marking him forever wasn’t lost when he’d finally been able to see himself; he insisted upon looking at it when they changed the dressing a few days later.

He was thinking about how he now had something in common with Frederick Chilton; and at least physically he’d gotten off easy in comparison. He’d be able to eat whatever he wanted, but psychologically…he thought he’d be better off becoming a vegetarian too.

It was during these musings that he heard a knock on the door. He’d assumed it was Prurnell coming back, this time to wring information out of him.

But Will was quite surprised to see that it was, in fact, his former Doctor, Chilton himself.

“What are you doing here,” he asked flatly, only glancing at him before turning away to look disinterestedly out the window.

Although he hadn’t been expecting a warm welcome, the lack of color in Will’s voice actually flustered Chilton. But he took a deep breath and continued.

“I came here to thank you. I know it wasn’t your, uh, primary goal, but I’ve been cleared. I’m obviously not the Chesapeake Ripper, so…”

Will snorted. “You could never have been. It was ridiculous to think you could have pulled off anything that Hannibal did.”

“Yes. Well.” Chilton straightened up a little, his pride wounded. “My abilities and intelligence aside, I am still thankful.”

Will finally turned to look at him. The back of his neck was still bandaged, but his left cheek bore a quilt of black sutures. The entry wound was relatively small; he assumed the exit wound was a lot worse. He’d made enquires after he was shot by Miriam Lass, of course, but he was never really invested in finding out how his recovery had gone.

He knew he should stop being so cold to this man, in spite of their history. He was just as much Hannibal’s victim as any of them. But he couldn’t help feeling that if Chilton had been more ethical as a psychiatrist, and just a little bit better of a man, maybe things would have turned out a lot differently. For everyone. So instead of turning his empathy to comradeship, he used it to wound him.

“I don’t think you’ve come here because you’re so grateful, just only to thank me. You have no one, Frederick. You played Lecter’s game, you _fucked_ with my mind in the hospital in league with him, and you lost. I’m sure your reputation’s ruined and you’re out of a job. I’m right about that, aren’t I?”

Chilton nodded.

“You’re here because you hope you and I can be our own little Hannibal Lecter support group. Well. It’s laughable. After everything you did to me? Tried to study me like a bug under a magnifying glass. You never tried to help any of your patients, only to dissect them.”

“You don’t have anyone else either, not anymore.” Chilton tried not to make it sound harsh, but rather just a statement of fact. “I heard about everything that happened the night you were injured. How…”

He was cut off. In a voice that carried more anger than he intended, Will growled, “If you ask me how that makes me feel, I’ll throw a bedpan at you.”

Chilton’s mouth hung open a little, not sure what to say. He shut it and closed it a few times before just staring out the window. He was about to ask how it made Will feel. A stupid reflex on his part. _Damn_.

Eventually he just cleared his throat, and said quietly, “I guess you’ll probably need someone to take you home, when the time comes. Here”- he took out a small pad of paper and wrote something on it.

“This is my cell number. Just think about it. Okay?”

Will noticed his voice was shaking a little, and he merely nodded as Frederick se the slip of paper down and left without another word. Obviously he’d hurt the man, and most of him was glad of it.

He waited until after he’d left to crumple it up and throw it in the trash.

. . . . .

Back at his hotel room, Frederick closed the door quickly behind him, and leant up against it before he finally let himself break down yet again. The one person in the world he might have been able to open up to, and…Will’s rejection of him had been so devastating and complete. And everything he’d said was true. Frederick never even got to apologize. He was utterly and completely alone. And while he was grateful to Will, he’d been right about coming there for selfish purposes.

He thought before he’d sunk as low as he could. He had been wrong.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will reconsiders his harsh words; Frederick tries to move forward.

After his encounter with Chilton, Will felt unsettled. He was glad to have finally told the man exactly what he thought of him. Still, he was strangely rattled by it. Everything he's said to him was true. But if he thought about it - which he found difficult to avoid - there wasn't a lot of difference between their situations. Will was completely a victim of circumstance; he felt little guilt at having arrived where he did. Frederick had brought a lot of things on himself, though the consequences had been disproportionate, to say the least.

He had been overly harsh in hindsight. If Chilton truly had nothing and no one, he surely didn't need to be reminded of that.

The next time the nurse came in to change his bandages, he said, "I threw something in the trash I didn’t mean to. Would you mind getting it out for me?"

. . . . .

Chilton had decided to make a clean break with his past.

Although he got good and drunk the night after his encounter with Will Graham, the next day he was determined to start the process of selling his house and finding a new place to live. The ostentatious property had been a reflection of the division he wished to make between his personal and professional life. Where his office had been full of books, journals, art, and his various accolades, his house was bleak and sterile. As a psychiatrist, he should have been able to look at this and see there was a problem. But it's hard to be objective when one inhabits the subjective experience of one's own mind. So he completely missed the fact that his life at home had been as far removed from his life at work as humanly possible.

It had happened so gradually, he had barely noticed it. When he'd bought his current house - a fairly significant step up from the luxury condo he'd been living in - he wanted it to be a place that would make an impact.

And the part that he should have understood is that the blankness would start to infect him, so much so that the only place with any part of him was his work; so he became his work.

One thing he thought would be needed any new place he lived was books. He hadn't kept any at home, as they tended to attract dust.

_What a ridiculous reason_ he thought.

From now on, he vowed to separate his real interests from mere pretension. It would take some thought. Once established, long-held patterns of behavior were hard to break. He’d done so many things to seem certain ways to others; now, it was highly unlikely anyone from his old life would be in his new one, so hopefully it would be easier to figure out what he was doing for show, and what he was doing because he _actually_ liked it.

So, books. What else? One thing his old house had was an incredibly extensive wine collection. It’s possible that his need to show it off was part of the old behavior, but the wine itself…that he really did like. Fine. New place will have room for that.

This felt like progress. _Room for books and wine. A good place to start_. There had to be some criteria when he started searching real estate websites. It felt good to have a goal, even a relatively small one like finding a new place to live permanently.

A bigger goal would be finding a new job. He’d amassed quite a fortune as the hospital director, and the market would still give his a return on his home; while the majority of the housing market had faltered since the recession, luxury properties had continued to do well in the face of growing economic inequality. No practical need to work for probably a few years, then. And plenty of time to think about options.

_Did I really even like my job as director of the hospital_? he asked himself. The prestige and the power had been nice. The control, the influence, the notoriety. But looking back on it, the need to know every little detail of what was going on with the staff, and the more infamous patients, had consumed him. He thought about it day and night, had brought recordings home with him to listen to. He mostly likely had rushed his recovery from being eviscerated by Abel Gideon because he couldn’t stand to be away. The job had been more compulsion than passion.

So, he put career considerations aside for now. The rest of the day was spent contacting and telling the long story to a real estate agent, one he’d found online that specialized in properties that had  checkered pasts. It wasn’t easy to sell murder houses.

. . . . .

_Hannibal could identify people’s weaknesses and exploit them._

Will was reflecting on this after he’d regained the ability for contemplative thought after having felt so unpleasantly about his behavior towards Frederick Chilton.

The weakness of his former keeper at the Baltimore State Hospital was the need to appear competent, innovative, and above all, smarter than anyone around him. And he’d more-or-less managed to pull that off, until Lecter came into his life. More sophisticated, more worldly, and definitely more respected by authority figures, like Jack Crawford. So Hannibal had taken him into his confidence, all the while making it look to Chilton like he was the one taking Lecter into _his_ confidence. In so doing, Hannibal had gotten him to let his guard down, and could more easily enact the plan to have Miriam Lass assassinate him. Dead or alive, it didn’t matter; all that was needed was Miriam’s conviction that he was the Chesapeake Ripper to give Hannibal a little more time.

He didn’t even want to think about what Alana’s weakness was, and how Hannibal had exploited _it_. Second to killing Abigail, he hated him most of all for that. Dr. Bloom had left strict instructions that she didn’t want to talk to anyone, not him, not Jack. Will had been able to find out that she would recover from all of her injuries, save the blindness, which was apparently permanent. Her dog Applesauce had been taken to be with Will’s pack, which Crawford’s students were caring for in shifts.

Will’s ultimate weakness was the need to come to terms with his violent tendencies. Hannibal had, in some ways, been right about him, he thought. _I am a killer._ _But not the same kind of killer_. Hannibal Lecter killed to feel like god; Will killed for righteousness, but for the human conception of it, not simply to have the power over life and death. Will killed to protect, himself or others; death came to him. Hannibal sought death out.

He hated Chilton for being weak, but wasn’t he just as weak, in other ways?

And ultimately, wouldn’t it piss Hannibal off if he was friendly with Chilton? He’d never find out –hopefully – but it would be some sort of karmic revenge.

_That’s not a good reason to want to be friends with someone_ he thought; _and “friends” might be too strong a word for what I’m thinking about anyway. More like a support group of two_. For a moment, he looked at the smoothed out, once crumpled paper with Chilton’s number on it. He had the oddest reminder of being in high school and wondering if he should call this girl he liked (he hadn’t). He nearly threw the number away again, but part of him said, _Try to think of a better reason_.

Will’s other weakness was needing to keep people out. Hannibal had exploited that too. He decided that getting past that weakness was a good enough reason to stop acting like a dick to someone who was even worse off than he was.

. . . . .

An unfamiliar number appeared on the caller ID of Frederick’s  phone. He thought it was probably one of the real estate agents.

"Dr. Chilton here," he answered. How he used to answer his office line. _That's a habit to break,_ he thought.

"Hi Frederick. It's Will."

He almost dropped the phone.

"Uh, hi. You're probably the last person I expected." He tried not to let the lingering hurt he felt be heard through the surprise in his voice, but Will could, of course, detect it and it made him feel guilty.

“Yeah. About that. I’m sorry. You were genuinely trying to be kind, and I guess I wasn’t prepared for it. If you’re still offering that ride, I’d like to take you up on it. If the offer still stands.”

“Because you don’ t have anyone else?” Frederick asked, a little more passive-aggressively than he meant to.

Will paused.”…No. That’s not why. I’ve been getting a lot of help from the FBI. Jack Crawford is very much occupied with his wife’s care, but he’s seen to it that his students have been taking care of my dogs, and they also offered to bring me home. So you’re not my last resort. I just think we need to talk.”

Chilton didn’t say anything for a few moments. He wanted to say _Sorry, I don’t think I can after all_ to Will. That would, of course be a lie; what he _really_ wanted was to tell him to fuck off. If he lied, Will would know he was lying. If he told him to fuck off, that would be a bridge burned, a door slammed. The pause got longer. There was a third option.

“Frederick? Are you still there”?

He cleared his throat, and said as confidently as he could: “Yes, of course it still stands. When?”

“They’re discharging me tomorrow morning. Around 10 AM?”

“I’ll be there.” His voice seemed unsteady, cold and distant in his own ears.

After he’d put the phone down, at first that coldness rang in his head for a few minutes. _Am I really desperate enough to take Will Graham’s abuse, and still be cordial to him_? he thought. Then it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t resisted the urge to close off not out of desperation, but out of forgiveness.  

“Huh,” he said aloud to himself, and this time, he sounded closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little less sad this time; but can that last?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick makes good on his promise to take Will home from the hospital, despite his reservations.

Frederick arrived at the hospital the next morning, as he said he would do. He hadn’t slept very well the previous night; not showing up wasn’t really an option, but he was apprehensive all the same. Twice now he’d said he would take Will home, and going back on that was definitely a step in the wrong direction. But even though Will sounded much less angry with him on the phone than when he’d seen him in person, Chilton wondered if he might drift back into his prior state of negative feelings. _I wouldn’t blame him at all if he did_ , he though. While he figured he wasn’t especially terrible to Will when under his care at the hospital, he was certainly condescending enough. And although he’d proven that he was willing to at least consider some of the things Will had been saying about Lecter, he’d been jealous of their relationship. He’d even told Hannibal about how Will talked about him constantly. This was a betrayal of confidentiality at best, and an insurmountable barrier to them ever becoming more than cordial to one another at worst. He wondered if he hadn’t told Hannibal many of the things Will had said while incarcerated, if things would have gone differently in the end.

He went up to Will’s room, only to hear some raised voices as he got closer to the door:

“I am walking out of here, do you understand? I’m done with wheelchairs.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Graham, it’s hospital policy.”

A heavy, resigned sigh, followed by a pause. Then: “Fine.”

Frederick swallowed hard. Not a good start to their reunion. But he knocked tentatively at the door.

The nurse came to it and said, “Dr. Chilton? He told me you were coming.”

“Yes. Is there something wrong?”

“Mr. Graham doesn’t want to get wheeled out of here, but I’m afraid it’s procedure…”

Frederick waved at the man to indicate, _no need to explain_. He understood liability issues probably better than most people did, having violated so many rules in his career, and suffering the consequences.

“I’ll take it from here.”

The nurse shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes up, as if to say, _Good luck, buddy, you’ll need it_.

Chilton stepped inside and cleared his throat.

Will was busy angrily stuffing things into a plastic bag, standing next to the wheelchair. He looked up at him, and his shoulders slumped down a little, in what looked to Frederick like resignation.

“They say I have to get wheeled out of here. I’m tired of being treated like an invalid.”

_Thanks for coming to take me home, over an hour away_ , Frederick thought to himself sarcastically. But instead of remarking on Will’s brusqueness, he only said, “As soon as you get to my car, that’s all over. Come on, let’s just get it over with.”

Will threw up a hand, grabbed his few items, and sat down in the chair. Chilton wheeled him out, and they were trailed by the nurse, down the elevator, and outside the front entrance.

Outside, Frederick retrieved his car, and pulled up to see Will go from fuming, to perplexed, to trying to hold back a laugh.

Finally, the big nurse let him get up and walk on his own. By the time he reached the car, he was actually laughing.

“A _Prius_? Really? You have changed.”

“I had to get rid of the old car. Too many bad associations. Too much blood.”

Will stifled his laughter, and said, “Oh, right, that was terribly insensitive of me. But you have to admit…”

“It’s rented. I haven’t decided on a permanent replacement yet. For either my car or my house.”

His tone suggested that he was tired of thinking about these issues, as if he’d been dealing with them a lot lately.

Will decided to stop talking for the moment, and just got in. Chilton sat rather stiffly in the driver’s seat.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while until they reached the highway. Then Will, trying to sound as sympathetic as he could without being patronizing, asked, “So…you mentioned your house before, when we were talking about the car. You’re ridding yourself of a lot of pieces of your past, Frederick. I would imagine as a psychiatrist, you would be concerned about yourself.”

Frederick relaxed a little; Will genuinely sounded concerned. “Yes, well, I didn’t really want to be reminded of anything from that day. I’m staying at a hotel for the time being, until I can sell it and find something new. You never saw my house.”

“No,” Will said. “I heard it was very…white?”

Allowing himself to relax a little more, even letting out a small laugh, he replied, “I suppose that’s an accurate way of putting it. It was a little modern in its clean lines. I think I’d like to go a different direction with the new place, whatever that ends up being.”

The ice had been broken slightly.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before saying, “Will, I feel like everything that happened with us, in the Baltimore State Hospital and after, was the result of a long line of narcissistic and self-serving decisions on my part. If I’m thinking like a psychiatrist.”

Will felt the sincerity even more than he heard it. It made it a little easier to not think of Chilton as having personally used him for his own ends; that’s what he had done to everyone. Trying to do it to Hannibal Lecter had been almost his final undoing.

The next silence between them was less tense; it felt like a truce had been reached. They both thought about their respective situations, in relation to one another; Will thought of asking Frederick about his recovery from Gideon’s assault, and Chilton thought about Will’s prognosis.

When they were about twenty minutes from Wolf Trap, Frederick finally felt collected enough to talk to Will about what he was thinking: “How long will it take for you to heal up?”

Will looked out the window a moment before answering. It was a loaded question. Physically, not very long, but psychologically was a different matter that he didn’t want to discuss. He imagined Frederick meant the former though.

“Well, I am supposed to get the stitches out in three weeks or so.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to, uh, take care of everything? With your house and dogs, I mean. I imagine they might be hard to deal with if you’re hurting, and you have such a big property…”

“The dogs are basically good about coming back when I call them. I wonder about wood for the fireplace though. Hopefully there’s enough.”

Frederick decided against remarking on this, for now. He had visions of things getting very cold in the old farmhouse. It was just starting to turn mild during the day, with Spring coming on strong; but the nights could still be chilly. Needing firewood was a completely foreign concept to him.

Soon they pulled up to Will’s house. Will had heard from Jack that morning; one of the students had been by, and brought some food as well as fed the dogs and let them out. He had remembered to specify that he didn’t want any meat, not anymore; from that day onward, the only meat Will would ever consume again was fish he caught himself. He’d neglected to mention the wood though.

Will allowed Frederick to extend an arm to him to give him leverage to get out of the low car, and he winced a bit, but standing, found the pain tolerable. He walked carefully up to the door, and once it was opened a flurry of barking, tail-wagging dogs nearly knocked him over. Frederick marveled as his mood changed instantly; he was not a person who was used to keeping pets (the cleanliness issue, after all) but he began to see the appeal.

Chilton remembered everything from the day he’d been there, with the sort of clarity one only achieves by having a memory seared into their brain by fear.

“You seem to have gained a dog.”

The medium-sized mixed-breed dog seemed just as happy to see Will as the others.

“That’s Applesauce. She’s Alana’s. Although I’m not sure if she’ll ever be able to take her back, after…”

Will trailed off, not wanting to puncture this happy moment with thoughts about what happened that day, and the fallout from it.

Frederick changed the subject. “Let’s go check on that firewood.”

They both went in surrounded by furry escorts. Will looked at the stack by the fireplace, and frowned. There also wasn’t very much on the porch.

“Unless the forecast changes, that’s really not going to be enough. Good thing I have all these dogs to sleep with.”

Chilton hesitated at first, but considered that he should offer to help, in some way.

“I could bring more in, if that would help you for a few nights…”

“You’re hardly dressed to carry firewood.” Frederick was wearing his most casual clothes, but even they were not suited to manual labor.

“I insist. Really, it’s the least I could do.”

“You brought me all the way out here, that’s more than enough.”

Chilton straightened up, and said, “Nonsense. I’m not going to be responsible for bringing you out here, only to let you freeze.”

Will thought it would be just as helpful to accept his former doctor’s assistance than it would be to him to get the firewood. He seemed somewhat lost, and Will felt a sense of helplessness radiating off of the man.

“Thanks. But let me get you a change of clothes, OK?”

Chilton nodded, and Will left to get him some spare jeans and a shirt. He went in the bathroom with them, the same one he’d showered all the blood off of when he’d been here last, and shivered with the memory, changing as quickly as possible.

He went out to the pile and was at least thankful that he didn’t have to chop any of it. Will had let him know that he’d need a substantial amount, and putting it on the porch would be best; he could bring a little in from there, but getting it all the way from the back of the barn wouldn’t be possible until long after he got his stitches out. By the time he was done, piling it up to the windows and down from the porch rail to the door, Frederick was in fact pretty filthy.

He came back inside, and when Will looked at his dirt-streaked forearms, he completely failed to suppress his amusement.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fastest I've ever updated anything, this must mean something, lol.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick Chilton makes a decision about where he'll live, and finds himself thinking about Will.

After he’d replenished Will’s stock of firewood, Chilton had insisted on returning the following week, to make sure he still had enough. The forecast didn’t look as if it would change much in the next seven days, and Will thought he’d probably need more by then if the unusually cold spring continued on the same path.

In turn, Will had insisted that if he was going to go to that effort again he should one, bring his own change of clothes, and two stay for dinner. It went unspoken between them, but they both knew that it would do each of them good to perhaps have a few – or several – drinks together, and talk about all the things they’d been too reserved to discuss sober.

. . . . .

When Frederick got back to his hotel room, he decided to start his new house search in greater earnest. He was tired of living in this state of limbo; the final decision on a car would be next. He’d realized that his life had been essentially set on auto-pilot for so long that the only thing he had to make decisions about were things having to do with his work. And those decisions had been influenced more by his own narcissism than anything else.

But what to search for? There were so many options on the real estate website he’d come across. Normal things that people would start with like “number of bedrooms” or were basically meaningless to him. He had no idea what his life would be like going forward, but doubted there would be much of a necessity for guest rooms. But way down on the list were two more obscure criteria: “built-in bookcases” and “temperature controlled wine storage.” Since these two things were the only things he’d even thought of, he clicked those and left the rest blank.

 _That should confuse anyone monitoring these searches,_ he thought.

Only four results came up. Two were large properties that were far from Baltimore, and Chilton thought that seeing these helped him narrow down at least what he  _didn't_  want. In the past, he’d hired a gardening service to take care of the grounds, and after what he saw Will had to deal with, perhaps a more urban setting suited him better. A third property was an updated condo in a building that seemed to cater to clientele much younger than him. But the fourth one intrigued him. It was a loft space in a converted factory, with exposed beams and ducts, things that would have sent him in a tailspin about too much visual clutter in the past. It was on an upper floor on a corner, and had a roof-top terrace. But most importantly, the former owner had installed floor to ceiling bookshelves on one entire side of the place, on a wall facing inside that wouldn't have been good for much else, not having a window. Also, there was a dedicated, walled-off area within the large open space that functioned as wine storage.

It was so unlike any sort of place that he’d ever imagined himself living; and Frederick took that as a positive sign. Without thinking too hard, he immediately emailed the agent representing the property, and asked to see it as soon as possible.

. . . . .

Despite having an adequate supply of food and enough firewood accessible for the time being, Will was having a difficult time adjusting to being back home. He was immensely glad to be back around the dogs, but a certain emptiness had set in. He’d had plenty of time to think in the hospital about everything that had happened between himself and Hannibal. Counselors came to try to get him to talk, but he never did. Unless someone had been a part of Lecter's world, had been victimized by him themselves, there was no way to understand. Jack Crawford was understandably busy with his wife. Alana was refusing to see anyone. And Abigail was dead.

That left Frederick Chilton.

Will found himself with each passing day looking forward more and more to his return visit.

 _This is so fucking weird_ , he thought. All that time he was under Chilton's “care” in the hospital, resisting him all the way, never saying anything of importance. And now he couldn't wait for him to come back. _Life is damn funny_.

He hadn't had any alcohol since he got home, but he was almost off the pain killers now. Time for a small drink at last. He sat on the front porch, the dogs sleeping around him, Applesauce with her head in his lap. Will could tell she missed Alana.

He felt strange, like a man who had come home from war, and didn't know what to do with himself; all the while wanting it to be over when it was raging around him, but now adrift. Hannibal’s… interest? devotion?...he didn't know what to call it…had been so fierce, so all-consuming. Without it, Will was both relieved and terribly alone. He felt certain he never wanted anything like that in his life ever again. It was hard to think that he’d ever be close to anyone in the future, but if he were, he wanted it to be easy, gentle. Not like a storm that threatened to destroy everything in its path.

He shook himself out of this line of thought. It was far too much to consider the future when the present was so hard to untangle. He imagined he’d go back to teaching in a few months, but for now, he had to think of his physical recovery. Rest until the stitches came out, rest until the healing had advanced far enough that he didn't hurt every time he moved. Then probably some kind of physical therapy, to get him back to being able to carry wood again. Again he thought of the irony that Frederick volunteered to help until the got to that point.

Today was Wednesday, and he’d be back on Friday. Will decided to call him the next day to ask about what he was able to eat. This was a much more pleasant line of thought, cooking something. He started to doze off, as the evening had not yet turned cold.

. . . . .

Frederick went to see the loft on Thursday. It had been strangely compelling to him from the moment he walked in. There were two units on the top floor, and this was the larger of them, with a private roof garden. He had thought that the architectural elements would be too overwhelming, but it was so open and airy, with windows overlooking the water. The building turned out to be a former factory space that had been converted after it had sat empty for decades; part of an industrial reclamation project. The neighborhood was dotted with such places, and a few shops that had opened to cater to those who lived there. It was quiet. It was someplace he could have everything he needed and be able to think. It was a great deal smaller than his house and probably a fifth of the cost of what he’d get when the old place was sold. An open kitchen/living area, the book wall, the divided walls that separated the wine storage from sleeping area; the floors were wooden throughout, even in the bathroom, which he found strange. But the old marks of where the printing equipment that had occupied it a century ago were beautiful in a way, and it was good no one had ever tried to cover them up.

He put in a full-price offer on the spot. The sort of spontaneous decision he never would have made in the past.

When he got home, Chilton felt something he at first almost couldn't identify. He was actually _happy_. He’d been delighted when Will had called him and asked for the ride to his house, and even more so when he’d asked him to come back for dinner. But the experience of being with him again had been overshadowed somewhat by their previous painful conversation at the hospital, his trepidation at making sure he didn't say the wrong things, and a certain undefinable nervousness that he didn't want to think too hard about. Finally making a decision about where he would live caused him to feel more content and pleased than he could remember in a very, very long time.

As soon as he got inside his hotel room ( _not too much more time left here_ , he thought with relief), his phone buzzed. It was Will. A little of his ease slipped away.

“Hello, Frederick. I’m calling to find out some things about your dietary restrictions. Am I right in thinking you've basically had to go vegan?”

“Hi. Yes, that’s right. Doctors say I might be able to add back some diary at some point, but I’m living like a new-ager these days.” Will could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

Will huffed in amusement on the line. It was funny to think of Frederick Chilton as a crunchy granola-type, and the image made him snicker.

“Okay,” he said, “I don’t mean to laugh at you. I’ll come up with something. I have more than enough time on my hands. Can you come by around five? That'll give you time to get the wood in for me, if you're still up for it”

“Sure. I’m probably buying this new place, and I may have to meet with some people tomorrow about it if things move fast, but I doubt I’d have to be later than that. I’ll bring some wine. Okay?”

“Oh great,” Will said brightly. “You’ll have to tell me about it tomorrow.”

After hanging up, Frederick was even more pleased having heard the genuine happiness in Will’s voice at his news. His apprehension about him began to dissolve; but the unnameable nervousness – the one he didn't want to think about – remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](http://michonneing.tumblr.com/post/88830235687) is a lovely set of images of Will on the porch with the dogs, looking kind of happy and pensive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Frederick find time to talk about their shared history.

It looked as if Frederick was going to easily be able to purchase the loft. His positive mood continued and it really began to feel to him like his fresh start was possible. His offer had been accepted; the inspection scheduled for Monday; and there’d even been some interest in his old place. It was all good news, but it was happening so fast. There was always something in the back of Chilton’s mind that warned him things like this were too good to be true.

 _Thinking like that is a good way to stop good things from happening_ , he mused. Even if he’d been a narcissistic psychiatrist, he was, at the core, a good one. Insightful, when he wanted to be, and when he didn’t get in his own way.

Time for a distraction. And the best kind of distraction had been provided, as he was about to start getting ready to go to Will’s house in Wolf Trap.

One other thing he wanted to cure himself of was overdressing. Frederick hadn’t taken much with him when he left his house, so he’d had to get some new things to wear. He had taken an old pair of jeans, and the black t-shirt he’d changed into after showering at Will’s place that horrific day had been given back to him when he’d collected his few belongings after leaving the hospital. These he would bring as a change of clothes to carry the wood this time. The jeans were probably a little small now, but they were the only thing he had that he didn’t mind getting dirty.

He decided to wear a vertically-striped blue and white shirt, and _definitely_ no tie. Tan casual pants, made from a light fabric. The weather was warm during the day, and still cool at night, and this would be both appropriate for the temperature and the occasion.

At the last moment he undid the top two buttons on his shirt. This was supposed to be relaxed and casual, right? Frederick felt a little foolish doing it, though, like he was going on a date.

Thinking that made his chest a little tight, so now he needed a distraction from the distraction. He realized he still had to stop to pick up some wine, so hurried to leave. It occurred to him that he should also bring Will some good whiskey, as he seemed to recall he liked that, and noticed he’d been almost out of it last time he’d been over. Chilton hadn’t been much of a whiskey drinker in his old life, but thought it might be interesting to share one of Will’s pursuits.

. . . . .

“This is really nice, Frederick. You really didn’t have to...”

Chilton cut him off with a flourish of the hand. “I’d like you to impart your knowledge of whisky to me. I’ve been a wine connoisseur for so long, I decided I should expand my repertoire, and that you’d be the one to teach me what to appreciate. I thought we’d start with this.”

Will smiled, and pushed his glasses further up his node to read the bottle’s label. It wasn’t the most expensive whiskey one could purchase, but it was up there.

“Well…this one’s going to be a little smoky in flavor. Very smooth. I like it myself. I hope you will too.”

They walked in to the kitchen together, where there was a large pot of fresh and deep smelling tomato sauce simmering on the stove.

“That smells incredible,” said Frederick. “What have you made?”

“A long-simmering rustic vegetable sauce. It’ll be better once the season is later and I could start getting things at that farmstand down the road. And fresh spinach pasta. I hope you’re not sick of this sort of thing?”

Living for weeks on hospital food, then whatever he could get near the hotel (since he didn’t feel like going to restaurants alone all bandaged up) had left him pining for something made with such obvious care. He tried not to let his eyes roll too hard, but obviously failed, since Will broke up in laughter.

“What?” he asked, a little nervous to hear the answer.

“Nothing, I don’t mean to laugh at you, but you used to roll your eyes like that at me all the time when you were being particularly condescending. Now it’s different somehow. More of a genuine reaction and not so contrived.”

Not knowing whether or not he should take this as a compliment, and not wanting to say the wrong thing, Frederick smiled weakly, and said, “I should probably change and get started on that wood.”

. . . . .

This strange new world, where Frederick Chilton brought him whiskey and carried firewood in for him. Will watched him through the kitchen window. The black t-shirt he wore was form-fitting, and showed off defined arms that Will wouldn’t have suspected were hiding under his former pretentious suits. The jeans he wore were also a little tight, and seemed old and worn. Obviously perfectly suitable clothing for the task he was performing.

But as he watched Frederick go back to the stack of wood for a final time, visible from Will’s vantage point, he witnessed him stopping for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, raising the hem of the shirt to use it to mop his head. The scar on his abdomen was barely visible from this distance, but Will found himself starting a little too hard just the same. He told himself it was to get a glimpse of the wound; but if he was being honest with himself, that wasn’t the primary reason. Between the strong arms, and the other parts of him he’d just seen, he found himself looking at the man in a new light.

Will noticed his mouth was open slightly, and had gone quite dry. He cleared his throat and went to get a glass of water. Chilton was becoming intriguing to him…but for now, it was time to put any such thoughts out of his head. He’d be back inside soon to shower and change, and Will had a few things left to do to prepare the dinner he’d promised.

. . . . .

The sun was low in the sky, and it had gotten colder; Will shut the windows, and shooed the dogs out onto the porch for a while. He lit a fire, and set the small table in the kitchen. The wine Frederick had brought was opened, and the meal almost ready. His guest had showered and changed, and came out looking like he’d gotten a little sun.

Sitting down, and digging in to the simple but well-crafted food, hoping to start off with a positive topic of conversation, Will asked, “So, tell me about this loft of yours.”

Chilton brightened immediately. Clearly the right choice of question.

“Well,” he began, “it’s not mine yet. But I think it will be. After the inspection, that is. I do have an unusually good feeling about it. My last place was modern, clean, well designed…but there wasn’t much of _me_ in it. In fact I don’t think I’ll take much more than my clothes and wine collection, and old personal things that are stored away. The furniture and artwork were picked out by a designer. I want to choose them this time.”

“That’s really good. It’ll help you feel things out. Your future, I mean.”

“After I got shot, I didn’t think I’d have much of a future. So it’s strange to think in those terms. But yes, you’re right.”

Will held up his glass: “To your future, then.”

Frederick was gratified by this, and blushed a little. “And to yours.”

. . . . .

After dinner, which had continued pleasantly, they sat talking in front of the fire, the dogs having been let back in, dozing around him. Everything about it was warm and comforting to both of them, and they’d started speaking more openly and honestly with each other than ever before. The topic that couldn’t be avoided was the final night, where everything had come crashing down.

"I suppose it's fortunate for me I was in the hospital. It seems he would've finished me off if I'd been around."

Will smiled grimly. "He didn't intend to kill me. Only brand me. Give me something of him that I'd never be able to erase. But yes. Everyone else he didn't care if they lived or died."

Chilton emptied his glass, and Will filled it up again. He noticed his state of inebriation had advanced further than he'd expected, making it easier to talk about painful things, and ask a much bolder question than he would of someone who wasn't a patient.

"Is it going to be...bad? The scar I mean. What do the doctors say? Mine is prominent, but at least it was done with a surgical instrument."

Will seemed a little uncomfortable with the question, but at least didn't appear offended. Frederick worried he'd pushed too far; Will wanted to let him off the hook.

“Well…another week until I get the stitches out. Then some healing after that. I have to take it easy, otherwise it’ll be worse. It is kind of jagged in places. I’m sure I could get reconstructive surgery, but that seems like overkill. It’s not as if it’s…”

Will stopped short. He was going to say “visible,” but realized that would be extremely insensitive.  But it was too late; Frederick knew what he was going to say.

“Uh, I’m, sorry, I didn’t mean...”

Chilton cut him off. “It’s fine, ’sokay.” He realized he was slurring a bit. “I don’t think that the entry would is bad, at least. It looks like a small bullet hole, much as you would expect. Not much to be done there. But….I’m a little concerned about the exit wound.”

He’d still go out with it bandaged up, even though it had healed as much as it was going to. He’d considered letting his hair grow to cover it. The scar was uneven, and mottled looking. He always got the feeling that people looking at the back of him were staring. It was almost worse that way; he would suspect, but never turn around to confirm it.

“We both certainly have no lack of wounds,” Will sighed. They both got quieter after that statement.

They watched the fire together, and the unspoken bond between them flared slowly, like the blazing embers they watched.

. . . . .

Chilton felt unusually comfortable on Will’s couch. Deciding he’d had far too much alcohol to drive, Will had insisted he stay. He fell asleep (or rather passed out) quickly.

When he started to dream, he was aware that he was dreaming. This was a phenomenon he understood well, so it didn’t frighten him. But it unnerved him slightly, as he had never experienced a lucid dream before.

The setting was exactly where he was; on Will’s couch in his sitting room. A few dogs lying nearby. The fire dying, low.

When in the dream Will walked in to the room, he reasoned he had caused that to happen. Wanted it to happen.

Dream-Will walked over to Frederick and knelt beside him. He touched his face, underneath the scar with the back of his hand. Stared at him with his deep, soft eyes.

He felt a strange combination of relief and fear. Should he touch him back? If he did, what would happen? Why did he direct the dream in this way?

Realizing there were little consequences to testing things in his own subconscious, he took Will’s hand, and pressed it to his lips. In the dream (he hoped it was _only_ in the dream), Chilton groaned as Will traced his mouth with two fingertips.

He felt himself becoming aroused, and realized that was definitely _not_ just in the dream.

He had to shake himself out of it. It was too much. When he finally came to complete awareness, he realized he was shaking, and a few of the dogs had begun to stir in their sleep.

Quietly, he got up to dress. He found some paper, and wrote a hastily scribbled note that read:

 

              Thank you so much for the incredible meal. I truly hope we can do it again sometime. I’ll call to see if you need anything.

              Sorry I had to leave before you got up.

. . . . .

When Will read the note, he could sense the sincerity of the thanks and the promise; but the lack of detail about why he “had” to go was disturbingly cryptic. Something had happened, and he couldn’t imagine what. He decided it was best to leave it for now, and reach him in a few days.

He closed his eyes, and fleeting visions of Frederick in his black t-shirt were the first things that appeared behind them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has been keeping up with this! Things change, but so slowly, don't they?
> 
> And specific thanks to [Conscious Darkness](http://consciousdarkness.tumblr.com/) for suggesting the delightful image of Will watching Frederick as he worked outside...!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another visit to Will's house, and a little more honesty from Frederick.

The loft was Chilton’s. There were no inspection issues, and he’d just picked up the keys. Going over there, knowing it was his, was almost like a religious experience.

However, as he pulled up to the building, there was already a van there; he’d called the hospital that morning, and they were very enthusiastic about ridding themselves of all the books and other items he’d had in storage.

The movers accompanied him on his first trip up; he tried to stay out of their way as they quickly unloaded box after box (and a few sculptures) and thankfully put them close to the built in shelves. There were at least a dozen men; Frederick wondered if the hospital had had them on standby to get his things out of there as soon as possible. As if they wanted to be free of all traces of him.

Well, so be it. He wanted to be free of the place too.

The rest of what he had from his old house was scheduled to arrive the next day, including the wine collection, so he really had nothing else to do but unpack all the boxes which mostly contained books.

Since there was plenty of space in the loft, being devoid of furniture for the time being, he decided to take them all out first and arrange them by subject.

After two hours, he was tired, sore, extremely dusty, but gratified with his accomplishment. All the boxes were empty, and all but three had contained books. The rest of the things were his degrees, awards; he wasn’t interested in dealing with those now.

With everything laid out, it was easier to decide where to put things, how much room each category would need. The first stack was a collection of books about post-traumatic stress disorder.

He considered them for a moment before starting to put them on the shelves, lower down, where they were more easily accessible. Frederick wanted to look at them later, but he remembered a lot of his training in this area, even if he hadn’t used it in many years. Most of his patients had corresponded to another, larger pile of books, having to do with abnormal psychology.

But he began to wonder if maybe he had PTSD. He often didn’t sleep, and his dreams had taken a turn for the decidedly unusual.

Most PTSD was set off by external factors that reminded the sufferer of what had harmed them; put them vividly back in that moment. He thought it would be logical if he was set off by gunshots, but when Miriam Lass shot him, he was unconscious almost immediately. So he really didn’t have a specific recollection of the incident. Loud noises hadn’t disturbed him since.

There weren’t any specific triggers he could envision, save one; Hannibal Lecter himself. And the FBI was certain he was out of the country, so Chilton didn’t _actively_ worry about him; but at the back of his mind, he realized the thought of him coming back terrified him most of all.

He tried not to think down these lines as he put the books away; this was a happy moment, marking the real start of his new life, and he didn’t want Hannibal in his head ruining it.

. . . . .

Will decided he’d waited long enough to talk to Frederick. He’d also hoped he had the pleasant distraction of settling his living situation, and hadn’t brooded on whatever had made him leave so suddenly.

He called him, and thought he’d get voicemail, as there were several rings. Thought he was maybe avoiding him.

But on the fifth ring, Chilton answered.

“Will.” He sounded a little surprised.

“Hi Frederick. I was calling to see if you’d like to come out here again. I don’t even need you to do anything for me, I just thought you’d like to come and stay this time. Without running off.”

There was a silence at the other end. Finally, he responded: “About that. I just couldn’t sleep, it was too strange for me being in an unfamiliar place. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve done so much for me, I want you to know how much it’s helped. Will you come out? And let me make you breakfast this time? Really, pancakes are my specialty.”

Frederick allowed himself a small laugh at this. Obviously anyone could make those; but it was the thought behind it that came through.

“Of course. I got the loft – in fact I’m unpacking some things that the hospital had sent over.”

“That was fast of them.”

“Yes,” he said, a little of his formerly more acerbic personality showing through, “it’s as if the books I left behind were as tainted as I was.”

“Still, though, I’m glad for you. Friday?”

“Yes. That’s perfect. My wine collection and house things are coming the day before, so I should be free by then.”

After he got off the phone, Will felt as if whatever had been bothering Chilton when he’ stayed here last, he decidedly didn’t want to discuss. But he also could tell it would maybe be better if he did.

. . . . .

Dinner was a Mediterranean eggplant dish that Frederick had never had before; since Will had lived so many places as a kid, he’d picked up bits and pieces of many ethnic enclaves that relied upon fish as a staple of their diet. He felt like Will was spoiling him in exchange for the work he’d done.

He had brought another (to Will’s belief exorbitantly expensive) whiskey, a different kind than the last. Will told him it would be smoother even still. And it was; they sat after dinner, talking and drinking on the porch, as the weather had turned warmer, and the sweetness of blooming honeysuckle was beginning to permeate the air.

The alcohol, and the atmosphere, had made them both honest.

They’d gotten onto the subject of Will’s stay in the hospital. Under Chilton’s dubious care.

“Are you angry with me about any of the things that happened, Will? Because if you are, we should get past it.”

“No, I’m not. Really. You were just constrained by the same carefully constructed web of lies and manipulation as everyone else. And you were one of the only ones who was even a little willing to consider that I wasn’t crazy, even if at first you thought I was just pretending to be to cover my tracks.”

“I used to talk to him about you. Even after you were in the hospital, on trial, you just seemed to have such a connection. Now I wonder if I hadn’t been jealous of your relationship. I…” Frederick trailed off.

“Our relationship? Me and Hannibal’s? There’s probably a few things that would surprise you about our relationship. About the true nature of it.”

Frederick, understanding some things about people at least, knew by the tone of Will’s voice what he’d meant. He felt a little part of himself sink. He wondered how Will still felt about him, wondered if any part of him regretted not running away with him.

“I had been wondering, I guess. About that. For some reason, it was one of the things that drove me here after he set me up, that day. I thought you’d be sympathetic, because he’d done the same to you, of course, but…”

Will realized that what he was trying to say was that he had clearly hoped he’d be hidden from both Lecter and the FBI by Will, but also that an unacknowledged part of his thought process was fueled by his other feelings, the ones that had made him jealous of Hannibal in the first place.

An uncomfortable silence descended upon them. Finally, after several minutes, melting ice cubes clinking in their glasses, Will said, “It’s late. Probably best we get some sleep.”

. . . . .

Frederick was determined not to run away this time, even if he did have strange dreams. And he feared that, given the content of their evening’s conversation, that he would be likely to do just that.

However, the night was very warm, and the weather unsettled. He did dream, but it was of tornadoes. A sentient monster, it pursued him wherever he tried to hide. When he’d think about it the next day, he’d analyze the dreams to mean that the storm represented Hannibal; an indiscriminate destroyer, annihilating everything in his wake, whether he intended to or not, cared or not.

As the night went on, the air grew thicker and the thunder was audible in the distance; no wonder he was dreaming of a great tempest. Soon, the sky was flashing and distant rumbles made the dogs whimper in their sleep. Neither Frederick nor Will awoke from it at first, only tossed a little as they were deeply asleep now.

The flashing and the thunder grew closer together in time, signaling that the storm was getting nearer. It hadn’t been predicted by the National Weather Service as potentially severe; just a pop-up storm here and there, that you often get as Spring begins to round the corner into Summer.

The booming grew louder and the flashing reflected off the mirror near where Will was laying; sleepily, he began to open his eyes. Winston was awake and put his head on the bed near his feet, and whined in protest.

“It’s okay…” Will said, reassuring the dog as much as himself. He turned over to face the window. _Sure seems like a hell of a storm_ , he thought. He could hear the other dogs stirring, and felt some remorse that his houseguest certainly wouldn’t be used to dogs getting a little upset by a thunderstorm coming through. He sat up and put his feet on the floor, deciding he’d better go check on them, before they started actually barking.

But as soon as he stood, he was knocked back onto the bed by the loudest explosion he’d ever heard, accompanied by a blinding flash. He got back to his feet, and ran to the front of the house where Frederick had been sleeping. When he got there, he was already up, looking around frantically; the dogs were howling. It was chaos.

“What happened!!?” Chilton demanded. He was disoriented from having been woken from his sleep so suddenly and violently. Will had a little more of his wits about him as he’d at least been semi-conscious when it – whatever _it_ was – had happened.

“I think a tree got struck by lightning. At least I fucking hope it was a tree and not my damn barn. I have to go look in case it’s on fire!”

“Well if it’s on fire, I’m not letting you go out there alone.”

Will tried to protest, but Frederick was already halfway to the door. They were both barefoot and had very little on; when he opened the door, it began pouring ferociously. Will bolted past him, heedless of the rain, and Frederick took a deep breath and followed.

They ran around the side of the house to the barn; it was still standing and appeared unscathed. But the tree behind it had been struck, and had been reduced to little more than sticks. A huge maple, it had literally burst from being hit, as trees sometimes do when all the moisture inside of them boils instantaneously. There was wood everywhere. Luckily the torrential downpour had put out any fire, and it smoldered in the rain.  

Chilton looked at it, astonished. “Is it okay?” he shouted over the noise of the storm.

Will yelled, “Yes, let’s just go back in, nothing we can do.”

They both sprinted back to the house. Heaving and dripping wet on the porch, they stood there shaking from jangled nerves; luckily at least it was warm. But they were both soaked to the skin. Will began stripping off his sodden t-shirt, and Frederick finally saw the jagged mess, lined in black sutures, that Lecter had left on his lower abdomen for the first time. He realized he probably shouldn’t stare, so took off his own soaking black t-shirt. He then realized that Will was looking at his scar, and further, that he was only now wearing a small pair of black briefs.

Will, for his part, only had on soaked boxers that clung to his skin. They both stood there, not knowing what to say. Will could read what Frederick was thinking, likely much better than he could read Will. He was clearly both intrigued and horrified by Will’s scar, but also noticed his eyes lingering on the wet shorts perhaps even more.

“We should get inside, Frederick.”

His eyes snapped back up to meet Will’s. He cleared his throat nervously. “Yes, of course. We’re soaked and I’m starting to get cold despite this warmth.”

Back inside, the dogs milled around, but seemed calmer. The fast-moving storm had done its worst and was moving on.

Will retrieved the largest towels he had, and handed one to Chilton, before getting some replacement clothes for himself and retreating into the confines of the bathroom.

Frederick slowly dried himself off, and wrapped the towel around him; and he realized Will had to have noticed him staring at him. He was startled out of his thinking on this, when Will emerged and said, “Are you all right?”

Frederick nodded slowly and grabbed his clothes, charging into the bathroom without saying a word. He decided he’d have to forego underwear for now, and stripped the wet thing off, hastily pulling on his slacks and shirt. He dried off his hair as best as he could, and tried to compose himself. If Will saw him so openly looking at his scar and, well, the rest of him, would he be angry? Unnerved?

_It’s not like I can avoid him right now_ , he thought, and stepped out.

Will was sitting, dressed, on the couch, and Chilton could smell coffee beginning to brew. It was nearly 6 AM, and he guessed it was logical not to try to get back to sleep. Will motioned for him to sit down next to him. He could tell Frederick was uneasy.

He sat down, stiffly, and decided it was best if he spoke first.

“I didn’t mean to do anything, well, uh, strange, Will. This whole night has been confounding to me. This whole year, or more.” He put his head in his hands. He was certain that just as he’d found a connection with someone, no matter what form it took, he’d destroyed it before it really went anywhere.

Will understood his meaning. He’d all but admitted to him earlier that he’d been thinking about him in ways that he wasn’t yet able to come to terms with. Even when Will was in the Baltimore State Hospital, and maybe even before that.

“Look at me, Frederick.”

He hesitated, but straightened up to face him. Will took his hand, and looked down at it as he calmingly stroked his palm with a thumb. The contact should have been startling to Chilton, but it felt good, soothing, and very right.

“Nothing you’ve said or done has crossed a line. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Yes.”

“I’m in the same place as you. We’re both bearing the scars of the recent past. I’m as isolated by it as you are.”

Frederick wanted to say something, anything, but was, for once, at a loss for words. Silent understanding passed between them, and then the moment ended.

Will gently let go of his hand. He leaned back.

“Look, I should be able to drive pretty soon. I’m getting the stitches out in two days, and the pain meds will be done. And I’d love to see your new place. I’ll come out to see you. Okay?”

“Yes,” Frederick responded, finally breathing less shallowly than he had been, “that would be very nice. I’ll make you something this time.”

Will smiled, and Frederick felt immediately less chilled.

“Now how about that breakfast I promised you?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tree explosion thing is something that really happens - [here's](http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/capital-weather-gang/wp/2014/06/09/tree-explodes-from-lightning-strike-in-saratoga-springs-new-york-video/) a short video clip of it taking place near where I live.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has an unexpected meeting, and finally sees Frederick's new place.

Getting the stitches out was more painful than Will had expected.

The wound was mostly healed; a line of darker pink centered the larger area of a peach-blush color that the entire scar was supposed to turn, before that faded to a flesh white. It was that center part, now dotted with empty suture holes that would be the most painful, and would prevent him from driving for another week. His skin had to become re-accustomed to holding itself together without help.

A few more day s of pain meds, and he would finally re-gain his freedom. Being stuck at home led to over-introspection. But at least he’d had a few distractions along the way.

The night the tree was stuck by lightning, Will had realized that not only had Frederick Chilton changed – for the better – but that he couldn’t help feeling a certain indescribable affinity for his former antagonist.

The morning that they’d had the incident with the exploding tree had been educational to Will about him. The way he’d dashed out the door with him, not hesitating or worrying about the rain or any danger. He’d just clearly not wanted Will to have to deal with whatever had happened alone. Will got the impression that Chilton had constructed his former life to not permit any surprises to happen. The incidents with Gideon and Hannibal had not made him more withdrawn, but had somehow made him kind of _brave_. If you survive your worst nightmares, there’s not much else to fear, he supposed.

They’d waited until the rain stopped and the sun had started to come out to survey the damage. The tree had completely shattered, and was little more than kindling and a stump. Nothing they could to about it until it dried off, so they just stood there marveling at it. They’d shared a quiet breakfast, and Frederick had left soon after.  Will promised to keep to his word that he’d get back in touch with him after he could drive again.

Now that the stitches were out, he thought about when he’d be able to see him again. The fact that this was where his mind went first had him wondering about what that meant. He needed to reach the trainee that Jack had promised would be waiting for him to call and say he needed a ride home.

But Will’s train of thought was interrupted when he got to the lobby of the hospital he’d gone to have the outpatient procedure done. Waiting by the door was Margot Verger.

. . . . .

Everything from Frederick’s old house was to arrive in one afternoon. And he could definitively say _old_ now, since just after he’d been able to unpack his first round of things sent over from the BSH, he’d learned there was an offer on his former home. A little less than the asking price, but still an obscene amount of profit; and he was glad to finally be rid of it. So here he was, directing movers to the kitchen area, the bedroom space, and overseeing the unloading of the wine collection to the storage area.

He personally inspected those, before anything else, sorting them to his mind more properly than they could. Some things didn’t change.

After a few days in, Chilton had run out of things to do. He realized that with the profit from his house, if he lived within more modest means, it was unlikely he’d ever really need to work again. But he couldn’t see himself knocking around his house and Baltimore and doing nothing for the rest of his life. He briefly considered writing a book about his experiences, but the thought of having to remember all of what happened to him in great detail made him nauseous.

Just as he was starting to get really bored, a courier rang his bell. There was a packet of information from Jack Crawford with his name on it.

It was to be expected that there would be a full and complete inquiry. Now that Will was almost recovered, and Alana Bloom was in a facility that would help her transition to living life as a newly-blind person, the investigators at the FBI – led by Kade Prurnell – would be looking into everything that happened, as well as launching a full-scale worldwide manhunt for Lecter. The information sent to him was the testimony that everyone had given, so he’d be up to speed when he was called in to talk to them more. He’d already told them everything, and there was nothing he had left to hide. His dubious methods of psychic driving with Abel Gideon, his conversations with Hannibal; he’d not held anything back when he was still under suspicion of being the Chesapeake Ripper, in hopes it would clear him.

But there were a lot of things in the file that had happened after he’d been shot that he wasn’t aware of; and despite his distaste about anything having to do with the whole mess, he was curious about the role of the Vergers.

It was clear from Jack’s notes and observations that he didn’t believe a word of what Mason Verger had to say about his “accident” – but had no concrete evidence about why he was withholding the truth.  He suspected that Mason’s vast reach and fortune would permit him to conduct his own search for the man, and that he didn’t want to give anything away that might deny him his revenge.

Even stranger was Margot’s unexplained surgery. Reports indicated that she was in a car accident which caused extensive internal injuries; but Chilton, having been a doctor, had never come across a case when something like that would require a hysterectomy.

It would be soon now, he mused, that Will would be able to drive out too see him, should he still want to, of course. Frederick wondered if Will was just being kind to him because of his empathy – that his real feelings were more represented by the honest anger he’d shown when Frederick first tried to talk to him, when Will was still in the hospital. He also thought that such speculation might be his insecurity talking.

_It would be good for us to talk about things that weren’t just in the recent past_ , he thought. He realized that might mean opening up more than he’d like. That delving too deeply into anything might be the basis for rejection, rather than a deepening of their strange connection.

His sleep that night was fitful, and filled with dreams of his failed days as a surgeon.

. . . . .

“Margot. How did you know I’d be here?”

She stood leaning stiffly against a pillar. Wearing her hair up, she looked more severe and quite a bit older than she really was; but life with her brother, coupled with recent events, had cast a haunted look on her face that was unlikely to ever recede.

“I would guess that is a question you can answer yourself,” she said with a knowing reservation.

_Mason’s been tracking my movements somehow_ , Will thought. The way she said it made that clear. She didn’t want to talk about him, but so frequently had to.

“I assume you need a ride home.”

“Yes, but I was going to call-”

“We need to talk, Will.”

He nodded his acquiescence, and allowed her to lead the way to her car.

When they’d been travelling for a few minutes, tense with heavy silence, Margot finally broke it: “My brother is very interested in your well-being. He feels that you might be the best conduit for certain information. Which he is increasingly desperate for.”

“I don’t know anything about Hannibal Lecter other than that he’s gone.”

“Mason thinks he may try to contact you.”

Will was growing irritated at this line of inquiry. “He tried to kill me. Why would he contact me now?”

Margot cleared her throat, as if speaking for her brother made her feel disgust: “Mason has acquired and read all the incident reports, and believes that Dr. Lecter didn’t intend to kill you. That he could easily have done so, and chose to keep you alive.”

“I don’t really care. I have nothing to give Mason, and even if I did, why would I want to aid him in whatever quest for vengeance he has planned?”

“I know, Will. I’m sorry. You have to understand-”

This time he cut her off. “Yes, I know, you had to try. You’re still under his thumb, even in his current state.”

She stared straight ahead, silent, the roadway and the glare of the sun reflected in her open eyes. Will knew he’d touched a very raw nerve.

“Look,” he said after a time. “Why don’t you come out to see me every now and then, and that way it will look like you’re doing something? I’m the one with nothing to give you. You can at least report back to Mason that I’m being cooperative. Okay?”

She finally blinked.

. . . . .

When Frederick finally heard from Will, it was a few days later then he’d hoped. He’d re-arranged the wine collection, read some more about PTSD, and was starting to be seriously concerned about his sanity due to the vividness of his dreams. Will sounded distracted on the phone; but insisted that all that really mattered was curing his cabin fever and getting out to see Frederick’s new place, now that he’d settled in. _I’m past settled_ , he thought, but held his tongue.

They made plans for the following evening, and Chilton felt a little lighter than he had in recent days. Figuring out what to make for dinner, thinking about showing off the new place to Will…he realized the roof terrace was seriously devoid of any furniture, and it should be nice that evening…

. . . . .

When Will arrived at the address he’d been given, he thought it was some kind of mistake. The old industrial building, which had been converted into several lofts, initially seemed so out of character for Frederick Chilton to be interested in. But there was his name on one of the buzzer, a shiny new embossed plaque that indicated he was in the right place.

Frederick let him up; there was an elevator which led directly to his place. Although the outside seemed disparate with what Will thought of Frederick as a person, when he got in, he realized why he’d chosen it.

“This is amazing,” he said, as he was welcomed in with a genuine, broad smile.

“Thank you,” Frederick replied trying not too seem too proud. But proud of it he was.

The first thing that stood out to Will was the place’s openness. It was a complete reversal of what he knew Chilton’s past to be like. There was detail everywhere, like the beams; the books, and the huge metal door that led to the wine storage; the place reflected the mind of someone who wanted his life to be ordered, but integrated.

“Let me show you the terrace,” he said, and they went up the staircase that doubled as a fire escape.

The views from the roof were extraordinary; the harbor was visible in the distance, and although it wasn’t the tallest building, it was in an area where there wasn’t much else around it, so the views were largely unobstructed.

Will walked over to Frederick, who was just gazing out towards the water, a look on his face that Will hadn’t really seen before – something like hopefulness.

He put his hand on his shoulder, and said, “I’m happy for you. I definitely think you made the right decision.”

Frederick nodded and closed his eyes; the contact felt sincere, and Will’s hand was warm, and real. So much of the last few months had felt very unreal. And although it should seem strange to him to have Will touching him, after all that had happened between them in the past, things seemed truly changed now.

The moment passed, as they often do, and Frederick opened his eyes. “We should go back downstairs…I’m sure dinner is ready.”

They ate mostly quietly, sharing some wine. Will wanted to avoid telling him about the odd conversation he had with Margot Verger; it seemed more appropriate they make small talk about these last few days, which had given Will back his freedom of movement, and given Frederick a chance to practice his cooking skills.

After they finished, even though he didn’t really want to bring it up, Chilton thought he should tell Will about the information he’d received from Jack Crawford.

“I got this file from Jack. He wanted me to look over everything, fill in some gaps after I was shot. This Verger affair puzzles me. I can guess why Mason wouldn’t want to admit that Lecter was involved in his injuries – probably to find him and kill him himself. But the incident with Margot is very strange.”

Will had declined to mention her showing up at the hospital. Avoidance of the recent past was, in fact, a good idea, and there was far too much to explain with respect to her. It had been bad enough when he’d told Frederick about himself and Hannibal. No way would he feel anything but damned uncomfortable if he told him what had happened between him and Margot.

Instead of answering Frederick’s question, he deflected it – “I got the impression that recent events were supposed to be off the table tonight. Let’s save that for another time.”

“Yes. You’re right…ok, then, Will, tell me something good about your past.”

They went back up to the terrace, and spent the next few hours discussing their childhoods; Will’s being towed around port cities by this father, which, while often isolating, was an education unto itself that most kids growing up in the increasingly insular suburban communities of the late 20th century didn’t tend to experience. Chilton’s story was even sadder in a way. A father that was a successful surgeon, who had died just after his son gave it up due to, well, just not being very good at it. He never got to see his son become a much-lauded (if not always respected) psychiatrist. His mother had retreated into depression after his father died, and his success never concerned her much. Both were only children, another thing they had in common.

It was turning cold, so they went back to the loft. After talking for so long, Frederick realized that he was actually, genuinely relaxed around Will; he hadn’t talked like this to anyone in years he was afraid to count.

“Funny,” he said. “How time gets away from you, and you don’t realize. I don’t think I’ve had a conversation anything like this since I was in college.”

He immediately regretted saying this, as he feared it made him sound rather pathetic. He got up, somewhat suddenly for all he’d had to drink and went over the kitchen area.

It’s often the instinct of people to keep talking, even though silence would do them better, and Chilton was no exception to this tendency. He continued:

“Only, it’s just…I got so wrapped up in my work over the years, kept doing more and more potentially dangerous and unorthodox things…I can’t help but think you’re only here because you feel sorry for me, somehow….”

Will got up and followed him to where he was, fidgeting with a corkscrew.

“Do you really think that’s why I came here? Driving out here, seeing you literally before anyone else? Because I feel sorry for you?”

“I just thought maybe…since you’re so feeling, so empathic…you might have felt bad about what you said to me that first day.”

Will looked a little taken aback. He had felt sorry for wounding him, kicking him when he was down. But he knew that wasn’t the source of his current feelings.

“I did come to feel like that was wrong of me to say, but that was only the start of a change in how I feel about you that is not limited to taking pity.”

Chilton wanted to ask what he meant by that, but was as afraid of the answer as any lingering negative thoughts towards him Will might have. So many implications, so much to fear.

Will looked at him, almost sadly, but…with something other than sadness underneath; something more akin to _longing_.

“We have a connection. Would you deny that?”

Frederick sighed, admitting defeat. “No I would not. It’s that connection that is more frightening than anything, Will. It’s the thought that it might exist, now, but that it might get broken.”

Frederick barely noticed that Will had him backed up against the large stainless steel refrigerator. He’d been moving away, and Will had not let him, advancing as subtly as Frederick retreated.

“Why would it get broken?” Will asked as gently as he could manage.

“I don’t want to say the wrong thing.” Frederick said, his eyes first on Will’s but then downcast. He felt the appliance at his back. No place left to run. With the solid object behind him, he realized he was shaking.

“Then maybe you should stop talking,” Will replied, placing one hand on the fridge, one on the trembling man’s waist.

Finally, he looked back up, right into Will’s eyes; and they were the same as they were in his first dream about him, soft and deep. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but nothing came. Will ensured nothing would, when he leaned in and kissed Frederick, who found he had a hard time figuring out what to do with his hands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with my slow updates.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After realizing how close they've become, Frederick and Will decide to take things slowly; Will gets another unexpected visit; and Frederick makes an unusual new friend.

The kiss was soft and lingering; Will could tell Frederick was initially terrified, his body rigid; but when he Will kissed him harder, he began to kiss back, and he seemed to melt into him. Frederick found his hands roaming up and down Will’s back, quite involuntarily. He tried sucking at Will’s lower lip, experimentally. He was rewarded with breathy, quiet moans that spilled from them as he teased at them.

Will pressed into him slightly, bracing his hands on either side of Frederick, on the cold steel of the refrigerator. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to be pinned, but Chilton didn’t want to be anywhere else in the entire universe at this moment, one he never wanted to end.

Finally Will broke the kiss, and put a hand on Frederick’s upper arm. Only then did the psychiatrist realize how dizzy he was.

“My…head is light. I need to sit before I fall.”

With a tiny, warm laugh, Will backed up slightly, their bodies moving in a coordinated fashion – Will leading Frederick to the sofa, Frederick following as if attracted by gravity. He felt a slight sense of unreality subsume him. The air had become rather thick and hard to breathe.

“I’m not entirely convinced this is really happening. What…exactly is happening?” he wondered aloud, more than asked.

Will put his arm around the man’s waist. To Frederick, it felt grounding. It was solid and corporeal, unlike the rest of what seemed to be happening. He kissed his cheek, below the facial scar, and that felt real too.

“What’s happening is that we’re acting on how we’ve come to feel about each other. At least, that’s what’s happening from my perspective. How about yours?” Will asked softly.

“That…sounds about right. I just sort of can’t believe it.”

Another gentle laugh. Will leaned over his mouth, and kissed him again.

“Did that feel like your imagination? Mine is good, but not that good.”

Finally Frederick began to relax a little, and angled his body more towards Will’s. He brought a hand up to tentatively brush Will’s cheek, and touch his hair; he realized he’d wanted to do that for some time. When Will closed his eyes, and leaned in to Frederick’s touch, he was completely unable to resist closing the small distance between them, and kissing him again, this time much more sure that this was, in fact, real. The way that Frederick’s slightly poutier bottom lip, and Will’s slightly rounder top lip fit together made the reality of the kiss irrefutable.

Will opened his mouth to the contact, and Frederick felt confident enough to start exploring Will’s tongue with his own. This time, it was Will’s turn to melt into him; before either of them realized, they were holding each other tightly, as if letting go would be impossible.

The heat between them was rising, both literally and figuratively. Breathless, they both stopped, but still held each other. Frederick leaned into Will’s ear, and whispered: “I have to ask you: when did you begin to think of me as anything other than a fellow survivor?”

He felt Will’s head sag a little, at the reminder of what brought them together. He let go of Chilton, but instead took his hand.

Frederick was reassured by this gesture, but that familiar worry that he’d said something wrong crept into the corners of his mind. Yet Will took his unscarred cheek in his hand and stroked his jawline. When their eyes met again, he was smiling, looking bemused and a little embarrassed.

“If you must know, it started when you were carrying wood for me. I was watching you through the kitchen window. I pushed it out of my mind, right then. But after that night with the storm – the one that destroyed the tree – you just ran right out after me. No hesitation. As if you didn’t want me to face whatever had happened alone. That’s what did it. I can read such emotional states, and if I remember correctly, that’s what you once referred to as my ‘thing’.”

Frederick blushed; partially at being reminded about what an ass he’d been the first time they’d ever met, in what seemed for all intents and purposes like a completely different life, even though it had been only about a year ago; and partially at the small swell of pride he felt. He _had_ rushed out, heedless to his own safety, for exactly the reasons Will had described. He’d actually been brave, and the fact that this act was what made Will feel something for him…he felt dizzy once again. He smiled in spite of himself.

All that blushing and smiling made Will realize he’d better pose the question he’d been meaning to for days: “Frederick…I have to ask you something now. When I told you about…about me and and…well, you know…you seemed to exhibit a strange combination of shock and relief.”

Chilton nodded slowly. This was going to be difficult, being with someone who could see through him like a sheet of glass.

“Well, yes…I think that is a pretty accurate description. I’m sure you have figured out why.”

Will inclined his head, and tried to be as delicate as possible. “You’ve never been with a man before.”

Frederick squeezed the hand holding his, in acknowledgement that this was the truth.

“I have…thought about it. Before, and of course more recently. But you know how my life’s been. I paid so little attention to romantic matters of any kind. There were a few women, in college, and medical school. But not for a very long time. You can read my loneliness – even before, you could.”

“Yes,” Will admitted, “I could, and I did. It’s just that now, I feel compelled to do something about it.”

He leaned in and kissed Frederick again, and they sat that way, for some time, just becoming accustomed to the other’s presence. An unspoken knowledge existed between them, in that moment – they would become lovers. That much was certain. However, Frederick’s inexperience combined with Will’s recent emotional trauma, meant that things would have to progress quite slowly.

After several minutes, Frederick shifted. He cleared his throat.

“We should go up to the roof and look at the stars. The city lights drown most of them out, but…”

Will cut him off with another quick, soft kiss. “That,” he said, “is a fantastic idea.”

. . . . .

They did share a bed that night, but it was mostly to sleep. There were some caresses, both going to sleep and waking up; in fact, when Frederick awoke and realized there was someone else in his bed, he was momentarily startled. But when Will sleepily rolled over, he just propped himself up on one elbow, and watched him wake up, thinking it was a beautiful sight when Will finally opened his eyes.

They had a quick breakfast together, smiling at each other whenever one bumped into the other in the narrow kitchen. Even though neither wanted to part, it was understood that some time alone to process things was best. Plans were made for Frederick to visit Will at his house over the weekend, in three days.

Will drove home in a dream state; he’d arranged for one of the students to look in on his dogs (a standing offer whenever he wanted it), but they would be glad to have him home.

One unpleasant line of thought that intruded on his current contented state was that his first kiss with Frederick had him reflecting on his first kiss with Hannibal. It was impossible not to make comparisons. The night that Hannibal had told him what was really going on with Abigail… _Abigail_. That’s where it started with them, and that’s where it had ended, in death and blood and the inevitability of it all. The crushing weight of responsibility for her fate had made Will vulnerable that night. Something had been building between them before that, but this promise, this commitment that lay between them had been what sealed Will’s fate. Hannibal had touched his shoulder, and Will had turned to him. When their eyes met, they both moved towards one another, simultaneously, and the kiss had been deep and fierce.

This was another reason Will felt more positive about this blossoming connection between him and Chilton – it was easy, light, where the relationship with Hannibal had been desperate and hard. Unlike his and Frederick’s wise decision to take things slowly, Hannibal had read Will’s fear and uncertainty, and played him like one of his instruments. That night was the first of many. He’d willingly gave himself up to his friend, falling together onto his psychiatrists couch, and when Hannibal had taken his achingly hard length into his mouth, it was like one’s first shot of heroin (or so Will theorized). A feeling he’d chase and chase, their intimacy growing forever more fevered.

Hannibal had been setting him up the whole time, of course, as a fall back should the FBI and Jack get too close to thinking he was the Chesapeake Ripper. And ironically, that’s one of the things that had driven Will closer to Frederick Chilton.

Hannibal would burn if he ever found out about the two of them. For a moment, Will wondered if that might not be an underlying reason he was so willing to enter into a relationship with Frederick, but instantly thought better of himself. It’s not as if Hannibal could ever find out. No; his new feelings were genuine. This made him smile, and push the horror of his recent past away.

Pulling in to his dirt and gravel driveway in Wolf Trap, there was a car waiting, but it didn’t belong to one of the dog sitting academy students – it was far nicer than they could afford. He recognized it as Margot’s.

He parked, and got out, and she emerged from the car.

“Couldn’t call first?” Will asked a little petulantly.

Margot looked distant and uncomfortable. The way she always looked when she was caught in the act of doing her brother’s bidding.

“Mason thinks that there’s a possibility Dr. Lecter might have access to phone records. He wants all meetings to be face-to-face with no electronic trail.”

Will shrugged, and went into the house.

The dogs ran out as they always did, sniffing around Margot. She followed him inside.

 “Looks like you’ve been out all night,” she remarked.

“Now you’re keeping tabs on me?”

“Just making an observation.”

Will busied himself getting the food ready to prepare for the dogs.

“Mason wants to see you.”

“Does he,” Will said flatly.

“He wants to make sure you’re prepared to cooperate. Share information.”

“He doesn’t trust you.”

“I would think by now that much would be obvious.”

“What if I say no?”

“I don’t think he’ll take no for an answer, Will. He’s going to send a car for you. Tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the advance warning. If it were a day or two later, they might be in for a shock.”

Margot raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Oh?”

“I may frequently have a guest. No one you’d know.”

“I’m happy for you. I met someone as well…Mason doesn’t know. I suppose I’ll have to tell him at some point. Her name is Judy.”

“I’m happy for you too,” Will said, softening a little. He imagined that would be a rather difficult conversation.

“That’s the only reason I came today. I thought giving you a heads up was the least I could do.”

“I do actually appreciate that. Like I said…could have been awkward. I don’t want Mason to know about him, and I don’t want him to know about Mason.”

“Can you tell me?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Probably not,” she admitted. “I wasn’t aware…”

“I’m sure you weren’t. It seems like you’ve made a lot of assumptions about me, Margot. Maybe you should stop doing that. I don’t mean that to sound cruel,” Will said, pausing. What had happened between them was in the past, and Margot had certainly suffered dearly for their tryst. He had no wish to twist the knife. “But if we’re to survive what your brother could potentially do to us, you shouldn’t presuppose anything about me, or pry too much, if he could use the information against you. Okay?”

She nodded. Will was full of surprises.

She left, saying only, “The driver will be here at 10am,” before seeing herself out.

Will was glad an uneasy truce had been struck between them. They needed each other, if only as allies. He had the sinking feeling Mason’s interference, his propensity to pervade and invade, would not be a positive thing in his life going forward. Even paralyzed, he was still so much like his own slippery eel.

. . . . .

Frederick spent the day making plans; plans to go out and buy a telescope, immediately, for one – they had a lovely evening looking at the stars before retiring, and he realized the light pollution was so terrible on the Eastern seaboard, that if they were going to make that a regular thing, he’d need one.

He made plans to finally turn in his rented Prius and buy something else. He’d actually settled on the Tesla Model S, which would easily get him back and forth to Wolf Trap in one charge, and that was what he was basing his needs on now. He also decided he should make an appointment with his investments manger, and let them know how much everything had changed; he needed to find out what to do with his money, and realized spending upwards on seventy thousand dollars on a car wasn’t the best idea, but he wanted something different, forward-looking. His building’s garage even had charging stations. He was likely to get quite a bit from selling his old car anyway, even if it had needed new seats from all the bloodstains.

But beyond finding new motivation to move ahead with things, he was elated. He didn’t want to think too much about his emotional state. He _did_ know this was not a feeling he’d ever had about anyone else before, and for now, that was enough. He had to tell himself that Will probably felt the same, a little confused, but still happy.

He set out to a store he’d found on-line that specialized in “Telescopes for the Urban Astronomer,” probably catering to the many roof-garden-having Baltimore-proper dwellers.

When he got back from a long day out, he’d brought back with him the new telescope; more and nicer bed linens than he’d ever owned previously, which was saying something; a bunch of groceries to take to Will’s home, to cook for him in his house (which Frederick regarded as something of a romantic gesture); and more and different whiskey then he’d brought with him before. Part of their roof-top conversation had consisted of Will’s preferences about it, and Frederick discovered he was partial to certain Irish varieties.

He was exhausted, and very glad of his elevator. Unloading it all into his place would take two trips. On the second, toting the large telescope, he didn’t notice that he wasn’t alone, not being able to look down.

The door slid open on his floor, and he was surprised to see a small, medium-haired white cat get off with him, saunter over to his couch as if it had done so a hundred times before, jump up on it and curl up, its tail wrapped neatly around its front paws.

He set the telescope down, and said “Hello?” to it, utterly perplexed.

The cat looked at him sweetly, blinked, and promptly went to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has a tense meeting with Mason Verger; future plans are made.

The first thing Frederick did was to leave the cat sitting on his couch, and go down to ring everyone’s buzzers, and ask if they were missing one. There were eight units in the building, and he was pretty sure only six were occupied; he got a hold of five of the six households, and none had lost a white cat. For the sixth, he wrote a note, and dropped it in their mailbox.

Since he was evidently stuck with the creature for at least the night, he went back out and picked up a few things to care for it temporarily at the corner drug store; a small litter pan that he’d put in an unused broom closet off of his kitchen, and a little food. His mother had had a cat when he was a child, and although that one had never paid much attention to him, he knew the basics of what to do to care for one.

He decided he’d call the animal shelter in the morning. Going back up to his loft, the cat was still sleeping where he’d left it. He set up the litter box, and put out some water, and dry food.

After hearing the bag being opened, the cat opened its big green eyes and stretched, and got down to eat, as if that were its usual evening routine.

Frederick watched it in amusement; Will was going to find this hilarious.

When the cat was finished eating, it jumped back up to the spot it had occupied on the couch previously, and bathed its face. Chilton watched it intently; its movements were so delicate and pretty to watch; he realized after several minutes he’d been staring at it the entire time. He caught himself wondering – what would happen if no one claimed the cat? He imagined the Baltimore animal shelter was perpetually full, and didn’t want to think about sending it there. Would it be so bad to have another living being occupy his space?

This got him thinking, again of Will; Will, who had several living beings living with him, and appeared to do fine. _If I can’t even care for or share my life with a cat, what good would embarking on a relationship with a person be_?, he thought. So he decided that if the creature didn’t have a rightful home, it could stay.

The cat looked at him with that serene expression again, and walked down the sofa where he was sitting watching it. Frederick held out his hand, and the cat sniffed it, then rubbed its head on him once; it went back to its spot, and settled down to sleep again.

_Perhaps it’s tired_ , Chilton thought. It certainly looked well kept, its fur unmatted. Surely it had to belong to someone. But it certainly looked in no hurry to leave.

It was getting late, so he decided sleep was his best option at the moment. Throughout the night, he awoke a few times, hearing the cat moving around. His dreams were full of Will, though, the way his hair felt in his fingers, and the way his lips felt on his own.

In the morning, it was sleeping in on the same place on the couch, and more of the food had been eaten; it had used the litter box.

As soon as the animal shelter was open, Frederick called it, and they told him no one had registered that they’d lost a white cat with green eyes, but would keep his information; further, they were glad he’d said he would look after it until someone claimed it. They also suggested taking the cat to a veterinarian to see if it had a microchip. He made an appointment for later that day for a place that could fit him in immediately.

He decided he’d post a few signs around the neighborhood, and made an appointment to get the cat looked at. Meanwhile, it woke up, looked him over again, and jumped into a chair to watch him eat breakfast.

“Well, cat, it looks like you’re stuck with me for a while.”

It blinked at him again, and for the first time, made a small questioning “meow?” at him.

He laughed. Frederick thought the cat was almost as puzzled as he was.

. . . . .

Right before Mason’s driver was set to pick him up, Will had the notion that it might be a good idea to leave some kind of note behind, in case he was prevented from returning. He planned on dropping it between his main door and the screen door surreptitiously as he left the house; he figured if he didn’t come back, Frederick would likely be the first person to come by to see what had happened if he wasn’t returning his calls. He wrote:

_If you’re reading this, I’ve been detained by Mason Verger. Tell Jack._

_DO NOT try to find me yourself. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this._

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but Mason was unpredictable at best. Considering that Will had been present when Hannibal snapped his neck, he wondered just how much he held him accountable. But he imagined he held Lecter most accountable of all, and it was clear he saw Will as his one and only link to him, even if Hannibal had not made contact with him…yet. So he thought it wise to just go along, and did not believe he was in any imminent danger.

Will heard the car arriving, and stepped outside, dropping the note as he’d planned.

The ride to Muskrat Farm was nearly panic inducing. He really had no idea what to expect, and the fact that one of Mason’s goons was sitting in the back with him, ostensibly to prevent him from reconsidering and jumping from the moving vehicle, he thought unnecessarily intimidating.

Margot greeted him as he got out of the car. She looked apologetic, but resigned, and showed him in.

Jack Crawford had been to the farm since Mason’s “accident,” and had described the room where he spent nearly all of his time to Will; but he was still unprepared for it. The place was garish, opulent, and obvious. His eel swam in a never-ending cycle of infinity, and Mason sat propped up in the middle of it all, a death-mask where the lower half of his face had once been.

“Mr. Graham. So courteous of you to accept my invitation.”

His speech was breathy and difficult to understand through his respirator, but Will could detect his unrepentant sense of superiority even through all the tubing.

“You can drop the niceties, Mason, I’m not here willingly, and you know it.”

“Even so, you and I have a common goal,” Mason breathed.

“Do we.”

“Of course. You were wounded, well, not as grievously as I was, but I’m sure you are just as eager to find Dr. Lecter as I am.”

“I’m _eager_ to let the FBI take care of it,” Will said testily. “I have no desire to be wounded by him again, as you put it.”

“This is wise, Mr. Graham, but you know as well as I do that the justice system is flawed. Even if they do find him, and put him on trial, there’s no guarantee he won’t get off on some kind of technicality. And you, know, double jeopardy…he may walk free again.”

Will honestly hadn’t considered this. There was overwhelming evidence, and he couldn’t run forever. But…

“Say I was to agree with you. There’s nothing I could do to help you find him, any more than I could help the FBI. I have no more idea where he is than you.”

Mason blinked a few times, the only way Will could see he was thinking of what to say next.

“I believe he will eventually try to contact you. And if he does, I want you to tell me about it first, and give everything and anything he sends to me, and not Agent Crawford. I think there will be a time where you will come around to my way of thinking.”

Will snorted derisively. “I very much doubt that. After everything you’ve done…” Of course he was talking about Margot, and Mason knew it. She had been standing in the corner of the room, and looked down when he said this. Beyond any disgust with Mason, the last thing Will wanted to do was allow him to think he could ever have his trust after what he did to Margot, and their unborn child. Even if he hadn’t felt ambivalent about it, and even if its termination hadn’t been engineered by Hannibal, Mason was still directly responsible.

“Time will tell, Mr. Graham, time will tell.”

 . . . . .

Fortunately, he hadn’t had to fall back on the note, so picked it up as he went back inside after getting back. He was very relieved about that – he didn’t want Frederick to find out about Mason. He got this look of terror that he tried valiantly to suppress every time Hannibal was brought up. Will knew he’d have to tell him eventually – and probably tell him about what caused everything, namely his prior brief relationship with Margot – but thought it best to wait. He didn’t want to put any more stress into the beginning of their relationship, which he felt might be hard enough for the both of them, even if it was fundamentally good. Thinking about the following day made him feel better, though. No Mason Verger to deal with, just a nice, new, real connection to explore.

Just as he’d rallied the dogs back inside, and was starting to prepare their food, the phone rang.

“What a coincidence,” Will said happily, his mood changed instantly when he saw the name on the caller I.D. “I was just thinking about you.”

On the other end, Chilton’s heart melted just a little hearing this.

“Were you?”

“Yes. Thinking about seeing you tomorrow. I’m very much looking forward to it.”

“As am I,” Frederick replied. “But…”

“But what?” Will asked, worrying he’d reconsidered. They hadn’t spoken since they’d spent the night together.

“It’s just…” Frederick had to explain to him about the cat. Told him everything, about not being able to find its owner, and about taking it to the vet that day, and it having no microchip. He finished:

“…and you see, they said I might not want to leave him alone for a few days, so I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming here again? I’ll be able to get out there soon, I just….”

“You want the cat to have a little time to adjust. That’s fine, Frederick, and I’d love to meet him.” Will was relieved. “And…does he have a name?”

“Promise you won’t laugh. It’s a bit predictable, for a psychiatrist.”

“Now you have to tell me.”

Will could practically hear Frederick becoming hesitant.

“I decided...it’s…only, he looks so wise…I’m going to call him ‘Sigmund’.”

Will was glad he never promised he wouldn’t laugh, because he collapsed almost immediately, hearing Frederick groaning on the other end.

“I’m sorry,” he said, regaining himself. “That’s actually perfect. And I’m so glad you decided to keep him. You’ve really changed so much.”

“Thank you,” Chilton replied stuffily, trying to reassert his dignity a little.

“Really, I mean it. Why did you decide to?”

“He seemed to…I don’t know…choose me? You’re going to think this is ridiculous, but…it made me think of you. You’re able to see past a lot of things, and so was he. Never had a cat before, and never had…well…anyone like you. God this is an absurd conversation.”

He’d rolled his eyes, saying that, and Sigmund the cat was watching him. He could almost hear the cat saying _Tell me about your mother_ , and had to look away.  

He cleared his throat. “So…I’ve been thinking about you a lot as well. Will you be able to come here?”

“Yes of course,” Will said, still laughing a little. He shook it off, and asked, “So, Frederick, what exactly have you been thinking about me?”

“Well…,” he began, sounding to Will a little like he was blushing, “I was thinking about when you kissed me. I was really astonished, if you couldn’t tell. At least at first. But I was going over in my head how fast I just was able to let go of the little inner dialogue I always have, making me rethink and question everything, and...I guess I never did that so completely before. Not about another person.”

“I could tell.”

“Of course you could,” Frederick said, with the smallest hint of sarcasm. No hiding anything from Will.

“Do you think you could let yourself go enough to enjoy more of me next time?” Will asked suggestively. He heard Frederick swallow on the other end.

“I would really like to try and find out. Yes, that would be, um, the best course of action. You know. To test my reactions.”

“A psychological experiment?” Will was pleased at how playful Frederick was allowing himself to be, despite clearly being nervous.

“I think you’d find me a very willing subject.”

There was a slight thickness to his voice that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through Will upon hearing it. It was new to him, this _forwardness_ , and he thought he’d quite like to hear more.

“What are we testing, Frederick? Your limits?”

“Yes, I think we are.”

_Correct answer_ , Will thought.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally together.

To go along with the telescope he’d bought, Frederick decided he’d better get some furniture to go on his admittedly rather nice rooftop deck. He kept it simple, buying just one lounge chair and a table.

He already had the things to make what he hoped would be a rather delicious vegan Thai dish, as well as the Irish whiskey. _Not that those two things necessarily go together, but oh well_ , he thought.

Sigmund, his new house mate – he couldn’t think of the cat as a pet, because he seemed to be, well, _smart_ – had begun to nose around the book collection, and had climbed the ladder to perch on a bookshelf near the volumes on abnormal psychology. He appeared partial to alighting near the psychology books, and looking down on the loft. Perhaps it was just a sunny place to observe, but Chilton thought it amusing nonetheless.

It was strange to him to think of Will spending a night with him, well, one that he’d planned to anyway. The previous one had been completely spontaneous. The act of getting the furniture delivered and placed on the deck, getting the food ready to prepare, deciding what to wear, and honest-to-god putting new sheets on the bed he’d bought just for the occasion was enough to make him lightheaded.

The content of their last phone conversation, with its suggestive teasing, was a clear indication to Frederick that they’d be doing more than stargazing and having dinner; that the sheets would be used for more than just sleeping in. He felt a delicious shudder go up his spine, and his face turn red.

Sigmund hopped down off the shelf, and rubbed his ankles, purring.

. . . . .

Will was glad about the way things had worked out; having to go out to Baltimore meant that Mason Verger’s “employee” wouldn’t show up unannounced and interrupt anything. _Or Margot, for that matter._ That was _not_ a thing he wanted to explain to Frederick, not until it was absolutely necessary, anyway, so hopefully never. But he suspected that more of the story might come out in the investigation and search for Hannibal, so he realized he’d have to tell him eventually.

But tonight was not that night. This was a night for not just testing limits, as had been spoken of already, but an easy connection that looked as if it would deepen as time went on. Will had nothing but desperate clinging and mutual neediness in his life over the last year; Frederick, ironically, provided an antidote to that. He wouldn’t have done in the not-so-distant past, Will mused.

Driving there, Will found himself being less nervous, and more anticipatory, and he realized that was not a feeling he remembered having in a very long time. Not heading to a crime scene, and bracing himself mentally; not heading to Hannibal Lecter’s office or home; nor to a lecture, or even a deposition on what had happened recently. He had a purely happy destination this time. And he intended to see just exactly what he could do to make Frederick feel the way he did, right now.

. . . . .

There was a guest parking spot allocated to Frederick’s loft right next to his, and Will was both astounded and not surprised to see the new Tesla Model S electric car parked there. He just looked at it, and shook his head. In some ways, it was a practical choice, but in others, it spoke of certain experimental whimsy that the old Chilton would never have indulged himself in.

He took a bag out of the car. It was strange and thrilling to have packed it, layered with meaning; things to brush his teeth with in the morning, a change of clothes. It _meant_ something to pack an overnight bag like this and bring it with him.

Frederick let him up on the private elevator, and smiled when he saw it. Will came inside, and set it down.

This was an uncertain moment for both of them; but as it was his space, and he felt the most comfortable, Frederick took Will’s arm and pulled him in for a quick, but soft kiss. They looked at each other for a moment before Will cleared his throat and they broke apart.

“So,” he said, “where’s this cat that’s intruded upon your life?”

Frederick laughed, and said, “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“Cats have a tendency to choose people they deem most appropriate companions.”

Just then, as if he knew he was being discussed, Sigmund came around the corner from where he’d been sitting in Frederick’s bedroom-area window. He walked slowly over to Will, and sniffed at his feet for some time while the both watched. Will imagined this was largely due to the myriad dog smells on his shoes.

Finally, the cat stopped and looked up at him blinking with his relaxed and knowing expression. Will bent down, and the cat sniffed his hand before finally nudging against it a few times, then walking off.

“I think he approves of you,” Frederick said with amusement. “It’s a good thing he does, he seems to have excellent taste in people.”

Will smiled warmly, still happy in a way that some of the old smugness was still there.

. . . . .

It was clear to Will that Frederick had been very meticulous in the preparation of the incredible Thai vegetable dish he’d made for them. He had an uncomfortable, but momentary recollection of Hannibal’s dinners, but this one was served without pretension, or any questionable decorations on the plate, and the moment passed. This was not Chilton showing off; it was him trying to please Will. Frederick looked at him expectantly as he took a bite; it was spicy, nutty, and delicious.

“This is amazing, Frederick.”

“Thank you,” he said smiling widely and pouring them some wine.

“That car of yours is an interesting choice, to say the least.”

“Yes, well. I managed to sell the old one, and despite the high cost, I nearly broke even. I wanted something…I don’t know…futuristic? That probably sounds ridiculous.”

“It probably does. But I think it’s a perfect choice, to look to the future.”

Frederick stared into the distance a bit, before his eyes came back into focus, and he had the most curious, if pleasant expression. He’d taken Will’s comment to imply something about _their_ future. And he was glad it made Will think he’d made a sincere effort to leave the past in the past.

When they were finished, Frederick suggested that they go up to the roof, and bring the whiskey along; it was a clear night, and the stars that formed the Summer Triangle were now visible.

Not having spent much time outside in the last few decades, Chilton was not very knowledgeable about constellations; but the constellations now visible formed what was often known as the “Navigator’s Triangle” - Lyra, Aquila, Cygnus, and– and Will certainly knew a few things about that, having spent so much of his time on little boats with his father, and without a lot of electronic equipment.

Having only the chaise as seating on the terrace, they sat next to each other, as Will pointed things out and Frederick looked, and they drank a little. It was a slightly windy that evening, even though the temperature was decidedly summerlike; they sat close.

“Do you see that one? That’s Vega, in Lyra. It forms a direct line with Deneb, in Cygnus, and down to Altair in Aquila makes the triangle. I haven’t looked at these in ages like this. They’re much more visible in Wolf Trap with the naked eye, but I usually am paying more attention to the dogs than the sky.”

Frederick looked away and stared thoughtfully into the distance.

“What is it?” Will asked, putting his hand gently on Frederick’s arm.

“This…it’s another example of all the things I haven’t paid attention to. All the things I’ve missed out on. I’m happy to be here, with you, but I can’t help feeling a little sad for all the wasted time, chasing I don’t even know what. Power? Prestige? The ends become the means. Or vice-versa. I don’t know.”

Will could feel his immense loss. He wanted to say something reassuring, but found himself agreeing. He took a big sip of the whiskey, then put his glass down.

“I’d like to say something like ‘It’s not too late,’ or ‘You can start now,’ but it would sound trite, and would ring hollow. You have lost a lot – time, connections, experiences, even parts of your own damn body. But you don’t have to keep losing things.”

A smile; Frederick was glad someone finally understood, and heard, without trying to brush it away.

He leaned in and kissed Will; it seemed the only appropriate response.

With one hand, Will turned the telescope out of their way, and with the other, slid it around Frederick’s back. He pulled them both down to the narrow chaise, where at least they were able to stretch their legs out, even as they wrapped themselves around each other.

Where their first kiss the on that first night had been tentative, hesitant, and soft, this one quickly became harder and hungry. Will entwined his fingers in Frederick’s hair, and essentially held him down, as he kissed the corner of his mouth, then played his teeth at his lips.

Frederick sighed into his mouth as he opened it with his tongue; he met it with his own, and the quiet sounds of breathing and sucking filled the night air.

Will moved his mouth down the upturned jawline, down to the pounding pulse at Frederick’s neck. He was rewarded with a loud, deep moan, and Frederick moved his hands to Will’s hair, so soft in his hands, not wanting him to stop, but wanting his mouth back at his own.

After a minute, he couldn’t take it any longer, and shifted his weight, pulling Will’s face back up to his. They scanned each other’s eyes for a long second, before Frederick captured Will’s lips again, this time leveraging his body over Will’s leg, trapping his hip.

On one hand, this was a good decision, since he could freely run his hand up Will’s side, without putting any pressure on his still-healing wound; but on the other, it made him painfully aware of the effect all of this was having on him, as he felt his pants growing rather tight at all the greater contact.

After a few more minutes of deep and increasingly frantic kissing, they both needed air. Despite the cool breeze, the heat had been rising between them, and Frederick eased off. He was gratified to see Will shared his predicament, as his pants were visibly stretched over his crotch.

Will propped himself up on one elbow, wincing a little at the stress this put on his abdomen. He brushed a thumb over Frederick’s ear, who leaned into the contact, and closed his eyes.

“We should go back downstairs. I don’t think this thing fits us very well. I’m sure your bed would be much more appropriate.”

His yes fluttered open, and Will could see his pupils were blown in the half-light.

“Yes,” he said, with a dark tone of voice Will had never heard from him before. “Much more.”

He got to his feet, much more gracefully than the situation should allow, Will reflected, and pulled Will up by the wrist behind him. Lust had made him strong.

The trip down the wrought iron staircase that connected the loft and the roof (which doubled as a fire escape) was less agile, however, as Frederick was feeling light-headed. He held on with every step, and Will followed him, amused at the thought that the blood had rushed out of his head – though he was in much the same straights.

Once he’d closed the door behind him, he began to feel mischievous on solid ground, and pulled Frederick towards his bed, kissing him again, and they fell on it together in a tangle of limbs.

Mischief quickly turned serious now that they had more room.

Will pulled Frederick’s hand up to the top button of his shirt. He understood what he was meant to do, but just to drive home the point, Will put his lips to his ear, and whispered, “Undress me.”

Any confidence Frederick had slipped away at these words, but his desire more than made up for it, though his hands were shaking as each button was opened; newly-exposed flesh mouthed with firm lips and soft tongue. He slipped the shirt off of Will’s shoulders almost reverentially.

Before going any further, he pulled off his light cardigan, difficult to do, as he didn’t want to take his eyes off of the blush creeping down Will’s chest that seemed to start at his neck, and disappear beneath his waistband.

Pressing together this way brought a renewed fever and insistence to their embrace, kisses becoming more needy. Will ran his hands up Frederick’s smooth back and surprisingly strong arms; _no wonder he practically lifted me off that chaise_ , he thought. A hand brought around to his chest to graze a nipple elicited a shudder, and a delicious groan. Will remembered this reaction, and pledged to himself to provoke more of it, and soon.

The touch made Frederick bolder, and he pushed Will down with the heel of his hand to lay flat as he unbuttoned his jeans. Will watched his hands as the worked, long fingers becoming more sure of themselves. When his pants were opened, he rocked up on his heels a little so Frederick could pull them off of him, leaving him only in his boxers.

Still standing, Frederick began to unzip his trousers, and let them fall. Will’s eyes widened when he saw what was underneath, although he was good at hiding any other reaction he might have had; Chilton apparently favored tight, black bikini briefs, which were cut high up on his thighs. On anyone else (certainly on anyone else of his age) they might have looked vaguely ridiculous, but on Frederick, they showed off his smooth, muscular legs, and offset the rather substantial length that they concealed.

Before Will could say anything about them, Frederick lay back down next to him, the bed dipping, and he turned to face him. He traced his fingers over Will’s side that was facing up, down to his waist, but not near the still healing wound. He lowered his head to graze Will’s flesh with his lips, just below his ribcage, as he brought a hand under the waistband of Will’s remaining clothes.

When Frederick’s large hand began to glide smoothly over Will’s ass inside of them, he threw back his head and groaned loudly. Before he knew what had happened the boxers had been pushed down his thighs, over his knees, and taken off.

Will regained his senses for a moment, and thought that it was hardly fair Frederick was still partially dressed, so he swiftly sat up and pushed him into the same position he was moments before. He ran a finger up the hard length still encased in the fabric, and it was Frederick’s turn to make sounds of building pleasure. 

“Take those off for me,” Will requested firmly. Frederick did as he was told.

Will draped his arm over his chest, and they kissed again, barely breathing, relishing the feel of their bodies together with nothing between them.

Will broke the kiss and breathed another request into his ear: “Touch yourself. I want to see what you like. I want to watch.”

He felt Frederick shudder beneath him and his cock pulse against his hip where it had been pressing. Will rolled off of him, and propped his head up on his hand, watching expectantly, hungrily.

Not having let anyone witness him doing this before, Frederick was hesitant at first, until he saw the look in Will’s eyes. He didn’t break contact with them as he moved his hand to his length, and began slowly stroking himself. His hands were large, and Will watched the lascivious display with wanton fascination, as Frederick’s fingers wrapped around his considerable size, and as he ran his thumb over the head every few times. Will committed this to visual memory; how Frederick gasped and bucked a little into his hand as he used his thumb like that. By now, he’d dipped his head back.

“That’s so good Frederick. Don’t stop until you’re close.”

He was answered with a few unintelligible noises of agreement.

In his mind, Frederick was thinking of kissing Will, touching him, anything that they might do next. It was staggering to him, so much so that that he thought he would go over the edge just thinking about it. But in the haze of his overwhelmed mind, he remembered that Will told him to stop just short of that; and the fact that he was being watched made that all the more difficult. He was dimly aware that he was thrusting into his hand, small movements with his hips, that became more and more erratic as he went on, indicating that he was almost there.

As his breathing and movements became more rapid, Will had been stroking himself as well. Knowing Frederick was nearing release, he reached out to him, and guided him back on his side. He slotted their legs together, and before Frederick had a chance to question what was happening, he brought Frederick’s hand over to encircle both of them at the same time.

Will guided their movements to slow down; Frederick thought it was the most intense thing he’d ever felt, a small amount of slick liquid making it easy to glide his length through his hand and against Will’s; he knew to slow down, or it would be over very quickly.

He wrapped his other arm around Will’s shoulder, and pulled him closer; Will shifted, and snaked one arm around Frederick’s waist, the other he used to brace the both of them they soon forgot about quick or slow, steady or erratic, as tongues slid against each other, as teeth closed around lips.

Moaning into Frederick’s mouth, Will moved his hips in a circle, as he was the first to succumb. Wet warmth spread between their bodies, and the slickness made it easier for Frederick to hold the both of them tighter, still together, and still be able to slide along Will’s pulsing cock. He held Will’s shoulder as he came too, one strong wave after another crashing into Will’s ebbing ones.

When it was over, they lay wrapped together, panting for lack of breath, and sharing the little they both did get. Will moved back only slightly, and took his hand away from Fredericks’ body; he brought it up to smooth his own sweat-soaked hair back out of his eyes, and then did the same for the other man. Finally, Frederick withdrew his hand, and looked in Will’s eyes, searching for any trace of regret. He found none.

Will kissed him slowly and softly, knowing he needed some small reassurance. New experiences tended to call for it, he found, even if it wasn’t logical that it be given.

Satisfied, Frederick leaned back, and Will laid with his head on his shoulder.

They were both getting sleepy in the post-orgasmic bliss; Will said, without much commitment, “We should get up and get cleaned off.”

“Mmmm.” Frederick agreed, but made no move.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick wakes up to good memories of the previous night; they discuss both pleasant and unpleasant times soon to come.

Despite the obvious need for some cleaning of both of them, Will and Frederick dozed together for over an hour. Eventually, Frederick woke up, and was somewhat confused; but his recollection of what happened just earlier flooded back into his mind soon enough. He opened his eyes, and smiled at Will, fast asleep, his head resting on Frederick’s shoulder.

Gingerly, he extricated himself and went to the bathroom; quietly rinsing off, and bringing a damp, warm towel to sponge Will off as best as he could. He didn’t intend to wake him; and fortunately, Will seemed to just stir in his sleep while Frederick gently toweled off his abdomen, and covered him with only a sheet. He rolled onto his side, facing Frederick, and quickly was breathing evenly and deeply. His eyes were moving back and forth in dreams; Frederick hoped it was something pleasant about him, and nothing else.

He lay down beside Will, and soon drifted back off himself. And his dreams were, in fact, the most satisfied and happy he’d had in recent memory, thought he didn’t recollect them clearly when he eventually did awaken.

. . . . .

For a second time, Frederick had the strange sensation of waking up in his own place, but with something very different going on. There was a delicious smell that stirred him; looking towards the window, Sigmund the wise-looking white cat was starting at him contemplatively from the sill.

_I wonder what you thought of all that last night_ , Frederick thought.

Will wasn’t beside him, and he deduced that was the source of the pleasant scent coming from the kitchen.

_Oh my god he’s making me breakfast_. The thought struck him simultaneously as wonderful, a bit of a cliché, and completely foreign all at the same time. No one had ever done something like that for him; his past relationships had been lacking in these simple domestic gestures, and he suddenly felt like he’d entered an alternate universe.

He shook of the incongruity of it all, and stretched, savoring the languid heaviness in his limbs that solely comes from a fantastic night’s sleep. He put on a pair of shorts he wore only around the loft while doing work like moving boxes, and nothing else.

Sure enough, Will was making…pancakes?

“I had pancake mix?”

Will looked up and laughed, saying, “Actually, I brought it with me. I’m glad it didn’t open up and spill all over my clothes. I had a feeling it might be needed.”

Frederick also noticed a small bottle of genuine maple syrup. He marveled. He was happy he had butter at least.

Will had even made coffee, and Frederick sat down at the small table to drink it, and watch as Will made him breakfast in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, still wondering if he was dreaming.

When he was done, Will brought the food over to the table, and they both dived in.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days,” he said, mouth partially full.

“I guess our, uh, activities last night contributed to that.”

“Are you blushing?”

“I’m not embarrassed or regretful or anything,” Frederick said hurriedly, not wanting to give the wrong impression. “It’s just that….I’m really not used to talking about this, well, not in relation to myself anyway.”

He thought about all the detailed and rather horrific conversations he’d had when he was at the Baltimore State Hospital with some of the patients about their prior actions and proclivities, and tried to push that out of his mind, not wanting to create any associations.

Will regarded him curiously. “You’re not are you? It’s not just that you hadn’t been with a man before, you haven’t been with anyone in a very long time.”

“It’s so unfair that I’m so transparent to you,” he replied with a characteristic sideways glance.

Will reached out his hand, and covered Frederick’s.

“It’s ok, you know. Remember we’re leaving the past in the past. Both of us.” Will was thinking about the uncomfortable conversation he should probably soon have with Frederick about Margot, to come clean with everything so he didn’t find out on his own. Not that it mattered now, but…there was nothing wrong with honesty.

“About the past,” Frederick continued.” I’m sure you’ve had the same phone call as I did this week. Ms. Purnell wants us both to come in and give some details about things.”

“Yes...I did.”

“That’s probably why Jack Crawford sent me that file. He knew this was coming up.”

“Wednesday.” They had a few days, at least, to mentally prepare.

“So, even though we’d like to leave things where they belong, we have to deal with it anyway.”

“That’s true. But it’s all ghosts now. Unless they catch him.”

“Or he comes back.”

“He won’t, not of his own free will.”

Frederick sat in silence for a few moments, before asking for something that he realized could be potentially problematic.

“Will…can we go to the hearing together? Would that come off as strange somehow?”

Will smiled broadly, and said, “I really don’t care how it comes off. And yes. Of course we can. We should meet there and leave together, and come back here. I have a feeling it’ll be necessary for us to just…be alone together afterwards. But you do need to get out to my place again. Over the weekend?”

Frederick nodded. He was pleased at both the practicality of what Will was proposing, as well as its nicer implications. He had the sense that the hearing’s aftermath would leave them a little shaken up, and probably wouldn’t lend itself to much _fun_ that particular evening, so he was glad to have the invitation, for later in the week extended to him, after they’d had a few days to shake off the bad feelings the inquiry was sure to stir up. And he was certainly happy that Will didn’t care who saw them together.

As they were finishing their shared breakfast, Frederick, uncharacteristically speaking with his mouth still full, said, "This was so kind of you, Will. So thoughtful. I can't tell you..."

He trailed off at the end, emotions churning. Will saw so much of his prior loneliness and current relief, and how much it was overwhelming him. He decided to change the direction of the atmosphere.

As coyly as he could manage, Will replied: "It's the least I could do after how you took care of me after I fell asleep last night. You got up and cleaned me off without even waking me up."

Frederick's mood changed almost instantly at the tone in Will's voice. His face reddened again; then, gathering himself, and feeling brave from Will's lead, he said, "I fear I may not have done a good enough job. There's only one way to be sure."

"And what's that?"

"I'll have to get you into the shower and clean you off properly."

Will put down his fork, swallowing his last bite. Frederick stood and inclined his head towards the bathroom; Will got up and followed.

A couple of steps behind, by the time he went inside, Frederick had already stripped off his shorts. He turned around when he heard Will close the door behind him, and he was pleased to see Frederick was already half hard, his nervousness having entirely departed.

He’d turned on the shower, and let it steam up the room. Like the rest of the loft, the floor was finished wood, but it was more thickly lacquered in the bathroom than the rest of the space. Will hadn’t had much opportunity to really take it in before, but the room was comfortable and stylish, in an old-fashioned way; a claw foot tub sat in the corner of the room, and he vowed they’d make use of it together someday.

Frederick efficiently removed Will’s shirt and boxer shorts, and took him gently by the wrist into the large, more modern shower enclosure, which was outfitted with a rain head fixture that Will found felt divine.

Chilton played his part well, first methodically cleaning off Will’s chest with soapy hands. Will closed his eyes and let him take control. The contact had aroused him. He felt an insistent hand turn him around to face the tile wall. Long, dexterous fingers working, massaging his scalp and washing his hair; that alone was enough to put him is a state of bliss. When he was done, Frederick meticulously cleaned off his back, and then slowly made his way down to Will’s ass, where he started working at his muscles.

Unable to hold back any longer, Will moaned and pressed into the contact.

“Does that feel good?” breathed Frederick. Will was unable to answer coherently, so instead he reached back and directed a hand towards the cleft of his ass.

Despite a new wave of hesitancy, and not entirely sure he knew what he was doing, Frederick allowed his long, slick fingers to glide down, traveling from the base of Will’s spine, over his entrance; the sounds he made further emboldened the exploring hand, and Frederick pressed and stroked his perineum before taking his balls lightly in hand.

He went back to ghosting over Will’s hole, who had begun to whimper.

“Is this ok? I really like touching you here. I want to touch you everywhere, Will. I want to touch and taste every inch of you.”

Frederick was already achingly hard when Will cried out a needy “Yes.” He couldn’t take it anymore, knowing it wouldn’t go any further right now than this gentle exploration; that Frederick even had the forwardness to do this was a huge step for him. Will turned around and kissed him slowly and deeply under the shower to reassure him it was very much wanted.

They fell into each other’s arms quickly; Will felt that the combination of sensations was marvelously overwhelming - the heat of the water, soft lips and sharp teeth, the slick slide of their bodies, the feel of Frederick's hip under his hand, and how their lengths pressed together, the hottest point of all.

Frederick was gasping and bucking hard, holding Will pressed up against the colder tile, making for a delicious contrast. Will brought his hand up to Frederick's hair, and pulled his head back to suck at his jawline and neck. He grasped him tighter against his body, trapping his cock between them, increasing the pressure and glide. This was too much, pushing his arousal over the edge, and he came as Will bit down, gently, over his pounding pulse.

When Frederick fell back to his senses, he was greeted with the sight of Will stroking himself, one arm outstretched and curled around Frederick's neck. Frederick turned up Will’s chin, but he met and kept his gaze, staring deeply into Will's blue eyes until he shut them and threw his head back, his orgasm hitting him in waves.

They stayed that way, in the shower, letting the water cascade other their sensitized skin, kissing gently, not wanting it to end.

. . . . .

Driving back again to Wolf Trap, Will was deep in thought. This relationship was lovely, and exactly what he needed. It wasn’t rushed, nor needy in the way his relationship with Hannibal had been. He _wanted_ Frederick, but he didn’t feel like he was clinging to him for the sake of his own sanity, as he had felt at times with Hannibal. But it did bring about some complications. He would have to tell Jack Crawford, and probably Kade Prurnell about them. It wasn’t that he cared what anyone would think, but Frederick was surely not used to being asked uncomfortable questions. That issue would be resolved this week, one way or another.

There was also the matter of Mason Verger, and Frederick would be predictably concerned and terrified by his involvement. _A bridge to be crossed eventually_ , Will thought. That topic definitely would _not_ come up at the hearing, even if he had to lie.

As he pulled up to his house, he saw that there was a note on the door. Will knew who it was mostly likely from, and his annoyance stabbed at the back of his mind; he felt a twinge of guilt about that – it wasn’t as if she had a lot of choice in these matters - but he let the dogs out to bound happily past the door and around the property before tearing open the envelope and reading.

 

                                                      Since you weren’t home I couldn’t warn you in person. Mason knows about the inquiry this week.

                                                      He wants you to come out to the farm the next day. I’m afraid if you don’t show up,

                                                      he’ll send someone to come and find you.

                                                      At least he trusts you’ll come here of your own accord this time.

                                                      Trust me, it’s progress.

                                                      –Margot

 

_It could be worse_ , Will thought. I’ll still be able to stay with Frederick that night, and I’ll go straight out to see Mason afterwards. Another twinge of guilt, this time because he knew the time was coming when he’d have to tell Frederick about what had gone on with her, but still didn’t want to. He hoped in the back of his mind he wouldn’t somehow find out about everything before he managed to figure out a way to do so himself.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will, Frederick, and Jack are called in to be questioned by Kade Prurnell, and she has a surprise piece of news for them all.

As time passed, Sigmund the cat began to respond to Frederick’s moods. Today, for the first time, he had arranged himself between the arm of the couch and Frederick’s leg, and purred until he fell asleep. He had been reading over one last time the files that Jack Crawford had sent to him. They were about his investigation of Chilton as a potential Chesapeake Ripper suspect, before Hannibal had shown his hand. Reading it all brought back innumerable unpleasant memories…

First, he felt like he could only blame himself. He’d been so blinded by trying to cover his unethical behavior, that he chose an ally poorly. Second, he saw the inevitability of it all, due to his own hubris. How Hannibal had used him to throw off the scent just long enough to keep his plans together. And finally, there was the realization that Miriam Lass, Lecter’s Manchurian Candidate, was meant to kill him, so he would be silenced and unable to give a conflicting account to Hannibal’s. Frederick knew this before, but reading over the files drove it home. He felt like a man who had narrowly avoided a traffic accident that would surely have been fatal.

At some point when he was sitting there, the cat had jumped up and sat next to him. He hadn’t noticed it at the time, but he gradually became aware of the warm, calming presence. By degrees, he stopped shaking and felt collected enough to decide it was time to go in to the inquiry.

“Sorry, Sigmund. I hate to disturb you, but it’s time for me to go. But…thanks.”

The cat awoke and looked up at him, blinking his big green eyes slowly. He stood up, stretched, rubbed his head briefly on Frederick’s leg, and then jumped down, sauntering over to his water dish.

Noticing the copious amount of white hair now lining his pant leg, Frederick smiled and briefly forgot about his upcoming questioning, wondering instead where he kept his sticky lint roller.

. . . . .

Will was so used to these procedures since he had regained consciousness in the hospital, that he was no longer disturbed by them. He was, however, worried about Chilton, since he'd been quizzed far less, having been more mortally wounded than even Will was, and having been cleared not too long after Hannibal had been assumed to be the Ripper instead.

Frederick occasionally exhibited signs of PTSD when it came to Lecter, and they had barely spoken about it. Will wondered if he could do more than just be there with him, but he figured that it would have to be enough. Perhaps the fact that no one had been in his corner much along the way, it would make some kind of difference that Will was now.

As they'd planned, Will went to the FBI offices that were set up at Quantico, a few buildings over from where he taught. They had everyone go there instead of the J. Edgar Hoover building, since basically everyone involved was based out of there instead of D.C.

As he'd expected, he saw Frederick sitting in the parking lot in his car, staring straight ahead. He hadn't even noticed Will drive up, or get out. He jumped when Will tapped quietly on his window.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Will began as Frederick got out of his car, but was cut off as the man just folded himself in Will's arms. He held him there, letting him just breathe, and felt his shaking gradually decrease and stop.

"How long have you been sitting there?" Will finally asked.

"About half an hour. Maybe forty-five minutes. I was afraid I'd be late, but I think I was driving a little fast."

"I think next time, you should let me drive."

"God, how many more times do you think that they'll do this?" Frederick asked, clearly distressed. He hadn't considered they would have to repeat this agony.

"Hopefully not at all, but if there's anything else they uncover, they'll surely call us back in. I’m sorry."

Frederick stepped back, resigned, his shoulders slumping. "It's ok...I guess I should have expected it, the efficiency of law enforcement being so legendary."

Will laughed a little, and Frederick's mood seemed to lift. _If he can still be sarcastic at a time like this, he must be basically fine_ , Will thought.

Resigned to their fate, they turned and walked to the building. Once inside, they spotted Jack almost immediately. He was beginning to look smaller somehow; the strain of his wife's illness, combined with the situation with Hannibal, one that he was being held more-or-less directly responsible for, had diminished the large man somehow. Will knew that they were trying to drum him out. There was no direct proof that Jack had known about Will's mutilation of Randall Tier, as a lure to mollify Lecter, but Kade Prurnell was no idiot.

The sad part of it all was that, as Jack knew his wife was going to die, he at least felt that the FBI would still be there to fill his life, that his work would be there after she was gone. Now even that was uncertain, and Will felt responsible for it.

"Will," Jack said stepping forward. "And Dr. Chilton. I'm very happy to see you've recovered. Will been keeping you company?"

"Thank you," Frederick said. "I have, as much as is possible. Will has been very, uh, kind to me in the interim."

Jack was too distracted by the situation at hand to hear the waver in Frederick's voice. Will heard it, though, and smiled to himself.

But like an ill-timed gust of wind, just then Prurnell rounded the corner, and Frederick visibly stiffened and brought his shoulders up and square, in what Will recognized as his signature defensive mechanism.

"Sorry to interrupt this happy reunion,” she said with forced pleasantness, "but it's time to come in. I want to talk to you all individually, then together. I'll ask Dr. Chilton to go first. Please, follow me."

And with one last worried glance at Will, Frederick went in the interrogation room with her.

The questions she asked were mercifully few. _Why did Hannibal Lecter try to frame him_? The answer to that was straightforward: he wanted to buy time to stay free as he could, to enact whatever plan he had, which Frederick was not a party to. _What was the nature of their relationship_? They were merely cordial colleagues and mutual acquaintances of Will Graham, before he was in the hospital, and Chilton was his doctor afterwards. _Why did Hannibal try to get him killed_? To silence him, to not give his account of the murder tableau that he'd set up in his home. As bizarre as it was, and as unlikely as it looked, Hannibal set the scene up in Frederick's house to put everyone off the scent. This ultimately could help exonerate Jack, since everyone was equally convinced by it, as Chilton had been thought to be the Ripper until the very end.

Relieved, Frederick left the room. Will was taken in next, and his questioning lasted a lot longer, as did Jack's. Finally, they were all called in together.

Will felt like they had all been called in to the principal's office, as absurd as that seemed. They filed in and took their seats; Will thought Jack's hair had become visibly greyer throughout the course of the day.

"I'll get straight to the point," Prurnell began ominously. "I think you all are leaving out crucial details to protect yourselves, and each other. Details, I might add, that if missing, could work against the case that is being prepared against Dr. Lecter. The Justice Department has decided to charge him and try him in absentia."

They were all surprised by this. It was moving too fast to be anything other than a way to absolve the FBI of being associated with a serial killer. More covering their respective asses than any real justice. Will felt sick enough of all of this, which he regarded as a circus, to challenge her. He had little to lose.

"You can't be serious that anything we do or don't say would do anything to the case against him. Not after what you found in his house. That would be the height of incompetence."

Her eyes narrowed. "There was copious evidence in his house, yes, but that doesn't mean he was the only one responsible."

"If you're suggesting that I or anyone else in this room was knowingly helping him, going back several years before we even knew him, I am going to walk right out of here and you will not ever get another word out of me."

Jack cut in: "He makes a good point. It's not as if he was just killing people recently. Will's right, if you can't make a case using the evidence you have -"

She waved him off. "Fine. Just be advised that the trial will begin in two weeks. I suggest you are there when you are told to be. You may go."

And with that, she looked down at her files. They glanced at each other, and then left.

Outside of the door, mercifully, Jack said, "I need to have gotten out of here an hour ago. We'll get together later to debrief after all of that."

"Of course," Will said. "And Jack, I'm well enough now that if you need anything..."

"Thanks Will." He turned and left, in a hurry, despite looking exhausted. Will thought he probably hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in weeks. He felt Jack's sadness like a wave crashing on rocks. The idea that he'd have to come in to testify at what would essentially be a show trial to make the FBI look good was deeply wrong, and would take a heavy toll on him. That is, of course, if Bella was still alive. If she'd died by then, he would be barely able to think. And if she was still alive, taking him away from her for one second would be excruciating on him. Will felt certain Prurnell knew this, and was being vindictive.

Turning his attention away from Jack, he noticed that Frederick looked like he had been holding his breath and finally let it out.

"Let's get out of here," Will said, and Chilton looked relieved at last.

. . . . .

Back at Frederick's loft, they had a light dinner, and were lying on the bed together, Will on his back, and Frederick curled up next to him, head on his chest. Sigmund was purring furiously against the small of his back. He had barely touched his food, and neither of them spoke much; Will eventually had eventually just stood up and led him by the hand into the bedroom.

"I'm sorry this is so hard for me, Will. I think....that the trial will be very bad for me."

"Would it be worse if he was there?"

Thinking that Will was making an excellent point, Frederick said, "Yes, of course....I suppose if they do catch him, and he's already been convicted, it would spare me that at least."

"Yes, it would," Will answered, stroking his side gently. "It would spare all of us. It's best to just get it over with, like ripping off a band aid."

Frederick sighed with acceptance. He was thinking that the situation was insane. He had Will to help him through, but he wouldn't have needed anyone to help him if he hadn't got himself into this mess in the first place. But the mess had led him here, safe in his bed, in a place that actually felt like home. The cat might have been the least logical of all of the details, but the unpredictability of it all fit perfectly. He finally closed his eyes, and drifted off, thinking that the next time they spent the night together, it would be under better circumstances. And that he'd figure out _some_ way to show Will his gratitude. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is essentially functioning to set some things up... it's short, but things will get more fun next time, I swear!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after the stresses of the inquiry, Frederick can go out to Wolf Trap, and let go. But something is waiting for him when he gets back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh yeah so...lots of porn in this one.

Frederick tried unsuccessfully to drive at or under the speed limit, but it was no use. His mind would wander, to the memory of the way Will’s hands felt on his body, to the recollection of his scent, his heat, the way his hair felt between his fingers…and then he would remember that he was driving, snap his eyes back to the speedometer, and realize he was going 10 to 20 miles per hour over the speed limit. He would slow, try to gather himself, but inevitably fail. He realized he must’ve done this at least a dozen times on the way to Wolf Trap. He just hoped that he wouldn’t get pulled over. He thought he’d appear so tense that the cop would think he was up to something and arrest him on the spot.

Luckily, the gods who watched over speeders were with him that day, because he got to Will’s house unimpeded.

It was late; being just the beginning of summer, the days were at their longest, and, even though it was after 8:30 when Frederick pulled up to the farmhouse, it was still light out, the sun only just having begun to set. They’d decided to meet later, and forego dinner plans this time.

Will, and the dogs, were on the porch. They would happily stay there for a while until…well, until something.

While the last night they spent together had been calm and reflective, each other’s presence a blanket of protection, this night would be different. No less grounding but more _active_ , at any rate.

The silent car came to a stop, the tires crunching on Will’s gravel driveway. Frederick had the oddest sense of recollecting the first time he’d pulled up there, in this ostentations Jaguar, which he was now so glad to be rid of. The weather then had been sharply cold, and could still feel the dampness of his blood-soaked clothes as they had clung to his skin that day. He banished the thoughts from his mind. Today was warm, the breeze just beginning to carry the promise of a humid night ahead. He didn’t feel the terror that gripped the base of his spine that day, but he could still remember it. _Hannibal is gone_ , he forced himself to remember. _This is just us_.

He closed the car door behind him, and Will stood up. He regarded Chilton with a curious tilt of his head as the man walked towards his porch. He seemed more nervous than usual. He correctly surmised that he was thinking of that first time he’d come here, though so much had passed between them in the interim, as to make that day part of a distant, alternate past that seemed increasingly unreal. _If Hannibal hadn’t happened to us_ , he thought, _we wouldn’t be here today_. _Through the fire, though so much was burned away, now, this is just us._

The dogs stirred a little as Frederick strode up the stairs. They were used to him. He no longer smelled of fear and blood, so they more or less ignored him. Winston wagged his tail before going back to sleep.

Will opened the door, and followed Frederick inside as he crossed the threshold without saying a word. He unsuccessfully held back a smirk when he saw how causally Frederick was dressed. Clothes that would come off easily, and worn intentionally for that purpose.

Will followed, and closed the door behind them. No sooner had he done so, than he found himself pinned up against it, Frederick kissing him frantically, his tongue parting Will’s lips, who yielded with no resistance.

When he finally needed to come up for air, his mouth was at Will’s ear. “I’ve been desperate this week. Thinking of you. Probably a reaction to the hearing, trying to push all of that out of my mind. I was dying for this moment.”

“I can tell,” Will said teasingly.

“Don’t make me wait a second longer.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Will said, as he reached under the hem of Frederick’s shirt, running his hands over his back, feeling the heat radiating off of him. His desperation was, at least, pure. Will could sense his increasing arousal, just from the sound of his voice alone, but it was so different than Hannibal’s; it wasn’t possessive, just raw and honest.

He leaned forward, feeling Frederick’s length growing hard, pressing against his hip. Will pulled the shirt off of him, and they moved that way, still kissing, still touching, and leaving a trail of clothes on the way to one of the back bedrooms where they could be secluded from the dogs when Will finally decided to let them in.

Frederick backed him into the room, and playfully unbalanced him, where Will landed on the bed with his arms splayed behind him. Frederick, who was now only wearing his tight underwear – red this time, Will noticed, somewhat incredulously – first straddled him, and then, leaning over, covered his torso and pinned his arms over his head, kissing and sucking on Will’s neck. He squirmed; he had a bit of an unfair advantage, since he was still wearing a partially unbuttoned shirt, though nothing else, which enabled him to slide underneath him.

Frederick dropped to his knees, leaving a trail of kisses on Will’s abdomen as he did, just to the right of the still-healing wound.  

Will’s thighs, he reflected, drove him absolutely insane. He spent a lot of time lightly biting them, trailing up and down the insides of them with his tongue. Enjoying the sounds Will made in response. He wanted to make this last.

When he finally made his way up to Will’s cock, he used only his mouth, bracing himself with his hands on Will’s knees. This was new territory for him, something he’d never done before. It was important to him that, when this was something they first engaged in, that he do it first, with no example to follow, and no instruction. He wanted to act purely on instinct, something he had rarely allowed himself to indulge in. If ever there was a time for indulgence, this was it.

He started at the base of Will’s cock, and pressed the flat of his tongue against its side, pressing firmly, as he licked all the way up to the head. He was going by sound; the noises Will was making, the pitch and timbre of his moans increasing the more pressure he exerted, the wetter the caress. He repeated this, getting to know every inch of him this way, and what made him moan the loudest. He traced the underside of the ridge of his head, all the way around and back again, before taking it into his mouth, lips tight, exploring with Will inside his mouth.  

He was concerned about his gag reflex. So he slowly lowered his head, deliberately avoiding as much as he could any part of the inside of his throat that seemed sensitive; and after a few minutes, he got used to being able to resist the urge to cough, at least for a few seconds at a time. Will was holding back with all his presence of mind the urge to thrust deep into Frederick’s throat, because, despite his inexperience, he more than made up for it with curiosity and enthusiasm. He gripped the sheets, and after it appeared he’d found a steady rhythm of sucking hard, lightly, all the way in, all the way out, Will gently put a hand into Frederick’s hair, encouraging him to go just a little faster.  

When he did, he found it impossible to not rock his hips just slightly, and Frederick adjusted to it well.

He’d almost dug his nails into Will’s flesh, and his mind became emptied of thought. It was just Will filling his senses, concentrating on pleasuring this man who by all rights should have never forgiven him his past sins. But here he was, realer than anything, writhing and gasping as Frederick pleased him. He was instantly addicted.

He felt Will’s length begin to surge in his mouth, and the hand in his hair tighten as a drawn-out wail spilled from Will’s lips. The fingers in his hair weren’t holding him in place, and he knew he could withdraw if he wanted to, but, of course, he didn’t want to. Will’s hips moved shallowly, but firmly, as he began to spill deep inside Frederick’s mouth. It wasn’t like anything he’d anticipated (and he’d thought about it all week); hot, bitter but not unpleasantly so. It went on longer than he would have expected.

As soon as Will’s motions ceased, he put his head up, and took a deep breath; he hadn’t noticed how much he needed to until he felt himself gasping for air.

“Are….are you ok?” Will asked, his voice shaky and deep.

“Yes, I’m fine. Was it…?”

The bark of laughter that tore through the silence of the room startled him. He had wanted to ask if he did well, but he supposed it was a stupid question after all. _Results don’t lie_.

Will sat up and leaned forward, catching both of Frederick’s hands that were still tightly gripping his knees. He pulled him up onto the bed, next to him, and instead of answering the partially spoken question, took his chin in his hands, and kissed him deeply, for a long time.

Frederick had been aroused during the whole time he’d been sucking Will, but only slightly; he’d been concentrating too much to be fully so. But after several minutes of being wrapped up in Will’s arms, with his tongue in his mouth, he began to realize he was achingly hard. Will felt him, pressing into his thigh, and reached down to stroke him languidly through he underwear he still wore.

“You know I enjoyed that,” Will finally whispered to him. “But did you? Enjoy doing it, I mean?”

“Yes,” Frederick said darkly, searching Will’s eyes with his own. “I loved it. Every second. You taste…wonderful.”

“Good, because you were wonderful at it, and I should hope you will do it again and again. But now, I think it’s your turn.”

He’d been working his hand up and down Frederick’s cock, inside his remaining piece of clothing, but Will stopped and pushed it around his thighs. He could stroke him more freely now, and Frederick was thrusting into his tightened hand.

Will moved down his body, never breaking the contact, and shifted his body so Frederick’s hardness could go in a straight line down this throat. He knew this wouldn’t last long, but they did have all night, and he a few other things in mind to introduce him to.

Frederick thought Will’s mouth on the head of his leaking cock was the warmest, silkiest thing he’d ever felt. He’d been given oral sex before, by women who either didn’t enjoy the act very much, or didn’t enjoy him. But Will was both eager and skilled, and he knew he was already close just from Will’s hands on him. He knew what he was doing, though, and brought him to the edge several times; at last, Will just let him fuck his mouth, more so than Frederick would have thought possible without suffocating. He came hard, Will’s mouth enveloping him completely, a sound torn from his throat that he never heard himself make before.

Frederick was more out of breath than Will.

“I didn’t last very long,” Frederick said, a little more forlornly than he intended to sound.

Will laughed for just a second, and, smoothing back Frederick’s damp hair from his forehead, replied, “No, I thought you might be a little keyed up after what you did to me. Rest a little while. Then you’ll be ready for me to do it again.”

Getting up, and grabbing a robe, Will left him there, with the most beatific smile on his face.

He had to let the dogs in, and feed them, and that gave him the perfect excuse to let Frederick relax and re-gather his strength.

When he returned, Frederick was propped up on one elbow, one hand resting on his abdomen, absentmindedly tracing the scar. Will noticed he did that from time to time, when he was most lost in thought and wondered if he was even aware he was doing it.

Will lay down beside him, and covered his hand with his own.

“I want to talk to you about something….something I have been thinking about,” Will said gently.

The careful tone of his voice made Frederick’s eyebrow raise involuntarily. “Oh? And what would that be?”

Will trailed his hand lower, over his hand, down past his cock, which had begun to respond once again, over his thighs. He pushed them apart a little.

Frederick knew what he was thinking without him having to explain. He’d touched himself before of course, pushing inside with one or two long fingers, experimentally, a time or two. But Will wanted him completely, that much was clear. And he wanted to give, completely. He just wasn’t sure his body would cooperate.

“Not tonight, of course, “Will said. “But I thought maybe, we could you know, test the waters a little. To see what you like, and what you don’t.” Frederick thought that if anyone was capable of taking things slowly, and pulling back when it wasn’t good, that person was with him now.

So he replied, simply: “Yes.”

Will brought his hand up to Frederick’s mouth, pushing his index finger past his lips; he sucked on it, slickening it up, his head falling back at the anticipation of what was about to happen.

Will firmly pressed his thighs open with the palm of his other hand, and began slowly, just touching his entrance; he wasn’t planning on using more than one finger, this first time. As soon as he just pressed inside, before proceeding any further, Will leaned over Frederick’s half-hard length, and took him fully into his mouth. As he arched his back, Will felt him relax and open up a little, so slid in all the way to his first knuckle.

Frederick was bucking up and down, encouraging both Will’s mouth as much as his hand.

“Tell me how you feel…”

“Good, it’s good, please don’t stop…” He was quickly fully hard in Will’s mouth now, unable to speak coherent words any longer as Will entered him fully, and beginning to stroke his prostate.

Will coils taste him, leaking, and getting rapidly close to release once again. He was rocking uncontrollably, and Will could just make out the words _more_ and _yes_. He stroked him, inside, hard and directly in the spot Will knew would make him lose control completely.

He was right.

He came again, louder than the last time, and Will could feel him pulsing from the inside. He felt powerful, giving Frederick such intense pleasure.

They spent most of the rest of night resting, stirring, and touching, dozing, waking, sucking, caressing….until, finally exhausted, sleep claimed them both.

. . . . .

Waking up, with the sound of the dogs milling around outside, sunlight streaming in through the open curtains, and Will making him breakfast yet again (waffles by the smell of it) Frederick thought was the best moment of his life. He wanted to preserve it, just as it was. He thought of all the “memory palace” things he’d read about in the case notes, and before, and just tried to absorb it all for future use.

He didn’t want to get out of bed, but it was necessary to use the bathroom; he found a robe in there, and went outside to find breakfast and coffee made, and Will corralling the dogs back onto the porch so they could eat uninterrupted.

He knew he couldn’t stay long. He remembered that Will had to go in to talk to Jack today, and it was the first time he’d let Sigmund alone for the night.

After breakfast, Will kissed him good-bye, and said, “Don’t forget what I said last night. I meant it. I really, really want you,” he said breathlessly. Frederick had a hard time breaking off.

. . . . .

He drove home in a dream. It was hard to come back to mundane reality after everything that had happened. But he felt he could go back to those feelings, every touch, whenever he needed to.

Or so he thought.

He pulled up into the garage of his building, and went into the small mail room off of it. Absentmindedly he took out his mail key from his pocket, but stopped short as he noticed that there was a letter sitting on top of the row of boxes, with no postmark. He thought at first it was more case files delivered by courier, as there has been before.

But there, in the neatest copperplate, was handwriting he would never forget for the rest of his life. It read:

 

     O Rose thou art sick.

     The invisible worm,

     That flies in the night

     In the howling storm:

 

     Has found out thy bed

     Of crimson joy:

     And his dark secret love

     Does thy life destroy.

 

Quite involuntarily, he dropped the expensive note paper. There was no air left for him to breathe, as his lungs wouldn’t permit it. He thought he was screaming but there was no sound.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is called to the Verger Farm again, and realizes Frederick might be in trouble.

Will didn’t necessarily think Frederick would call him that night, and when he got home, after a long day of discussing case histories with Jack, he was far too tired and it was far too late for him to reach out on his own. He sensed that the man needed space, intermittently, to process his emotions after their encounters. Even a day or two going by wasn’t particularly strange. However, Will thought it would be wise to be the first one to make contact this time, as their previous night together had been the most intense yet.

After a night of fitful sleep, he had his day planned out. The following Fall, he would start back to teaching, another thing he and Crawford had briefly talked about. It was time to start thinking about planning for that. He’d gather some preliminary case files to put into the courses he’d teach on profiling. Then, there was always clean-up to do from the tree that had been struck by lightning; he’d have to get someone out to get rid of the stump, so he planned on making preparations for that. Maybe a nice walk with the dogs. Then, later that night, he’d call Frederick, and they’d have a long talk about how he felt about what was happening between them, and where it was headed…if anywhere. Will wasn’t entirely sure about that himself. Talking would help him figure that out.

He reflected on another conversation he’d had with Jack the previous day. Something he hadn’t wanted to talk about, but found increasingly hard to avoid.

_“Will, the FBI is making a big show of trying to find Lecter, and putting on this trial. But I don’t think they really want to find him. They don’t want the liability of agents getting killed, as you and I both know they certainly would be. This trial is a way of keeping him out, making him someone else’s problem. They think he won’t be able to get back in the country undetected, especially with the publicity of the trial. They want him to get old, start slipping up, and let another government catch him.”_

_“That’s unbelievably unethical. He’ll kill countless people while he’s free to do so.”_

_“Yes, but not any of our people. That’s all they really care about.”_

_“Jack, I have to tell you about something…”_

_“About Mason Verger? The FBI knows he’s conducting his own search. And I suspected he’d try to involve you. Will, Mason will put you in more danger than anyone else.”_

_“I won’t give him the chance.”_

Will wondered if he could keep that promise. He found himself staring out the window, until the dogs were yipping to be fed. He’d put this out of his thoughts for now, and try to go about his day.

But as soon as he’d fed the beasts, showered, and gotten dressed, the phone rang. A blocked caller ID usually meant only one person.

“Will. I’m sorry to call you on such short notice, but you need to come out here today. Now.”

Margot’s voice sounded unusually urgent. She generally took a dismissive air when carrying out her brother’s requests, but something was different.

“What’s happened?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone. You’ll find out why when you get here. You know he won’t take no for an answer when he wants to talk to you, but this time Will, trust me. You need to hear this.”

Will had lingering doubts about her, as she’d deceived him so severely before, but never had she done so since. And Margot was as much a victim of both Lecter and her own brother as anyone, and Will was most likely her only ally. He didn’t think she’d do it again.

“I’m on my way,” Will said grimly, and hung up.

. . . . .

When he arrived, he was greeted by Margot, instead of Mason's knuckle-dragging bodyguards. He didn't necessarily take this as a good sign; on one hand, it meant that he trusted Will not to try to kill him, but in turn, that likely meant that Mason figured Will needed him alive.

"Margot, what is going on? And why couldn't you or wouldn't you tell me on the phone?"

"Mason was right there, and he's become concerned that your phone might be compromised."

"Why is that?"

"He'll make my life a living hell if I tell you. He wants to do it himself. I'm sure to see the look in your face."

Will's mood darkened further. He wouldn't have thought that was possible.

Laying there, surrounded by more machines than last time, Mason looked more cheerful than a man whose medical condition was evidently deteriorating had any right to appear. _The worst sign of all_ , Will thought.

"Mr. Graham, so good of you to get here so quickly." Verger's voice had taken on a whistling quality that Will thought was more than just the result of the ventilator. He sounded like he might have pneumonia, the result of being a quadriplegic. It was likely it would pass, but not definite. Will figured he had wanted to move up his timetable for his revenge on Hannibal, in case he didn't have a lot of time left.

Will wasn't interested in Mason's revenge. He was happy to let the FBI deal with chasing Hannibal.

"Margot said something about the phones being an unreliable form of communication? Why would you think that?"

"Well, I'm afraid there's good news and bad news. The good news is that we might have some idea where Dr. Lecter is. The bad news is he may be on to my search for him?"

"And why is that?"

"Because the man I had tracking him was, uh, waylaid. And he may have told Lecter some things before his tongue was cut out and sent to me."

His eyes went to a box sitting on a nearby table.

"It came this very morning, packed in dry ice."

"How do you know it was his?"

"My associate had a very distinctive diamond piercing. It has been included, evidently for identification purposes."

"Mason, how did the...the tongue...arrive? By courier?"

"It was left at the gate of the property. My surveillance cameras caught an unmarked white van leaving, its license plate obscured."

Will reasoned he sent the package to a kind of underground, illegal courier service. One that specialized in both discretion, and the hiding of where things really originated from.

"Mason, where was your man? Where did he find Hannibal? And what might he have known to tell him before he died?"

"I'll begin at the beginning of your queries. He found Dr. Lecter in Italy, on his own. It was most likely before my associate identified his place of residence and what he was doing there; he had only just let me know he'd positively identified the target. And as for what he told...there is no way of knowing, but he did know several things we would not have wanted Dr. Lecter to find out about. My guess is that he told everything."

"I'll ask you again: what did he know?"

"That I and the FBI are conducting separate searches for him, obviously for different reasons. That you have made a more-or-less full recovery. That Dr. Chilton has been long ago released from suspicion, and recovered as well. And that you and he-"

Will cut him off - "What about us? What is it that you think you know?"

He looked over at Margot, who was pointedly avoiding making eye contact.

Will's mind went through all of the possible scenarios of what Hannibal might do if he knew Will was involved with Frederick. In the way they used to be. That he might be personally insulted, that he might try to discourage it somehow.

And the next thought was that, if anything had been sent to Mason Verger, Hannibal’s likely next move would be to send something to him. Or…to Frederick.

“I know that you are more interested in revenge than bringing Dr. Lecter to justice, but surely you can see that you are not equipped to catch him. Why don’t you just let Interpol and the FBI handle this?”

“Nonsense, Mr. Graham. This is just a speed bump, a temporary setback. If he sent something to me, he’s sure to send something to you, or to Dr. Chilton. I’m sure he’s quite jealous of you two.”

Mason tried to laugh, which quickly turned into a cough. One of the medical staff had to clear his breathing tube, as it had become clogged with phlegm. Will felt his feet begin to itch. He had to get out of here, and go straight to Frederick’s. He was beginning to worry about why he hadn’t heard from him.

In light of the fact that he’d heard from Jack Crawford that the FBI was going to let Hannibal be another country’s problem to deal with, he began to wonder if he should take the Verger route of dealing with him. He thought that the last thing anyone would suspect of Lecter was that he would try to come back to the U.S. Which meant that it probably exactly what he’d do. But he also didn’t want to disrupt the course that his life was taking now.

“I am leaning towards agreeing with you Mason, as much as it pains me to say so. I have to see if there’s been anything else sent. To either myself or Dr. Chilton. I think you will agree that time is of the essence.”

“Of course. If you find any other little surprises, do call on Margot.”

. . . . .

The first thing Will did as soon as the Verger farm was in his rearview mirror was to try to reach Frederick. He wasn’t answering. He left a message saying he was on his way.

His mind went through several unpleasant scenarios. If he’d sent Mason a tongue, who knows what he’d sent his former psychiatric colleague. Will suspected anything from Hannibal would send Frederick into a panic. It was time that he sought treatment for his PTSD, and time Will came clean about everything that was going on, and everything that had happened, regarding the Vergers.

The drive to Baltimore became increasingly difficult to focus on since Frederick hadn't called him back. Will told himself that it might just be because he was otherwise occupied, but he knew instinctively that something was wrong.

. . . . .

After he found the letter, Frederick more or less retreated both into the walls of his loft, and into his mind. It didn't occur to him to tell Will, at least not right away. As soon as he'd gotten inside, he began to regret the open plan of the place; nowhere to hole up and hide. The next best thing was closing all the curtains and getting under several blankets.

Fortunately for Sigmund, Frederick had left an overabundance of food out, so he wasn't about to run out right away. The cat, for the first time, curled up at the foot of the bed, and stayed there the entire day. Frederick was barely aware of the creature, until he began to creep up next to him. By then, it was late at night, and although Frederick should've been hungry, he wasn't. He hadn't noticed that hours had passed; he'd been lost in thought the whole day. But he remembered that the cat might be, so got up, gave Sigmund some fresh food and water, and went right back to staring at his bedroom ceiling.

After eating, the cat went right back to lying next to him. They stayed that way all night, Frederick occasionally getting a few moments of fitful sleep that were interrupted by pieces of nightmares of his ordeal with Abel Gideon, waking up in the hospital in handcuffs after getting shot by Miriam Lass, and vaguer, formless things menacing him from behind dark, tall trees.

When the sun came up, he fed the cat again, and took care of the litterbox. He drank some coffee, which, on an empty stomach, made him feel worse.

Time passed unmarked by his conscious mind. As he lay in this bed again, he was vaguely aware of his phone buzzing. Then, finally, he thought of Will. He assumed it was him calling, but had no desire to speak.

Later, just before evening, his phone was buzzing again. Several times in a row. Then his intercom. Then his phone again.

His window was open a tiny crack, and he could hear yelling from the outside. He finally decided to peek out of it. He saw Will looking both frantic and pissed off, yelling red-faced on the street outside.

Frederick resigned himself to texting him a short message: _Come up_.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finally comes clean with his past involvement with Margot, and his present entanglements with Mason.

Will opened the door to the building, which passed the entryway to the mailroom. He noticed the door was unlocked, which was strange; and through the glass, he could see a piece of paper lying on the floor. He had an unusual feeling about it. Like it wasn’t just some discarded piece of mail. He stepped inside and picked it up.

As soon as he saw the kind of paper it was, and the accompanying envelope lying beside it, he knew instantly what the problem with Frederick was. Turning it over, and reading the poem, he felt a combination of fear and anger stab his heart. The fear was an empathic response to what Chilton must have felt when he read it; and the anger was directed not only towards Lecter, but also at Mason Verger, whose ridiculous crusade for revenge had been the catalyst for this.

Taking several deep breaths to clear himself of these things – which would not be helpful if displayed to Frederick – Will tried to think through these things as he walked towards the elevator. Frederick thought Hannibal had someone spying on them or something. He must have been letting his imagination run wild. While he had at first in the back of his mind been angry that Frederick hadn’t called him immediately when he got this message, that he’d hidden this, he understood completely why he didn’t. He still had unresolved post traumatic issues, and had probably just frozen. _And it’s not as if I’ve been completely honest_ , he thought. _That changes now_.

He tucked the letter into his jacket, keeping it out of sight, and went up.

When he got inside of Frederick’s loft, he was struck by how dark it was. It was a lovely sunny day outside, but you wouldn’t know it from being in here. He’d pulled the shades on all the windows. It was downright dreary, reflecting the man’s mood.

Sigmund the cat meowed at him hopefully, as if to say, _I’ve done all I can. Now it’s up to you_.

“Frederick?” he called.

“I’m in here,” came the small-sounding voice from the bedroom area.

The bedroom was somehow darker still. It seemed to radiate gloom, and the familiar scent of fear hung on the air. Frederick looked a shocking mess, considering Will had only seen him a few days before. Clearly he hadn’t showered or shaved, and it looked as if he was both hungry and dehydrated.

Will suppressed a desire to exclaim and scold about these things, but instead he just sat next to his lover, who was sitting up in the bed, staring straight ahead.

“You shouldn’t have come.” His voice sounded cracked and dry.

Will took a seat near him, but not too close. This would take a gradual approach.

"You should have called me," Will said in his least accusatory tone.

Frederick let out a long sigh, as if he'd been keeping in a breath for a very long time.

"I just...couldn't. The rational part of my brain said it was because I wanted to keep you away from me, for your own safety. But if I'm being honest, I just couldn't even talk about it. Couldn't begin to find the words. It's like I'm paralyzed. Useless."

This was when Will felt like it was a good moment to put a soft hand just on Chilton's ankle, the closest part of his body to where he happened to be sitting.

"He's not watching you, or us, if that's what you're rationally worried about."

"How can you know that?" Frederick raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Because I know exactly how he found out about us. I'm sorry to say but there's been some things I haven't been filling you in on."

Will could see the thinking, cognitive part of Frederick's mind begin to engage, and the scared, irrational part begin to let go of its grip on his psyche.

"You've read about what Hannibal did to Mason Verger. Or rather what Hannibal got Mason to do to himself."

"The files are rather vague on those matters. But it's clear that there was more to the story than what Verger reported."

"I can tell you that everything you suspect is true. Because I was there."

"When he mutilated himself? And why didn't you put a stop to it?"

This was the part of the story that Will was most trepidatious about sharing.

"It has to do with Mason's sister, Margot..."

Will recounted the strange connection they'd shared, both knowing Hannibal in similar ways. And how, when Margot had come to his house, he should have rejected her, but....couldn't. How she'd gotten pregnant, and Hannibal, not wanting Will's attention to be directed anywhere but towards him, had manipulated Mason into terminating the pregnancy and making her unable to do the same thing again.

Frederick was very quiet while Will talked. He didn't look upset, just glad to have something to focus on that wasn't his own concerns for a while. And he was beginning to piece together how Hannibal knew about them.

"So....I'm guessing that Mason didn't tell the FBI what really happened to him because they'd want to know all of the details, which might incriminate him."

"Yes. That and wanting to seek revenge on his own terms. He doesn't want to leave a trial to chance if they catch him, and he gets off on some kind of technicality."

"And if there's a trial in absentia, Lecter can't be there to influence a jury with his....charm...or whatever..."

Will allowed himself a small laugh. Frederick's personality was showing a glimmer of returning to normal.

"And the reason he knows about us is because Mason still underestimates him. He sent a man to get intelligence on him, and of course Hannibal got to him first. And likely tortured any tiny scrap of info he could get about me out of the man, and about what's happening back here."

Frederick appeared to relax a bit more. That certainly made more sense than all the bizarre scenarios his mind had invented since he got the note. But he still had to ask:

"And you and Margot?"

Will put his hand more firmly on Frederick's calf this time.

"She was more or less just using me. For reasons I completely understand, and I should have known better, but. I don't blame her. Things were so insane then. It hardly seemed to matter and I was..."

"Confused? Lonely?" These at least were things that Frederick could understand.

“Among other things. But yes. Look Frederick, I am sorry I didn’t tell you about all of this sooner. I wanted to protect you from all of this. Mason wants me to help him, and I’m starting to think he has a point. Jack told me the FBI just wants to keep Hannibal away. Let another country deal with him. They’re not about to put their own agents at risk.”

“Considering what happened to Verger’s man, they may be taking the right approach.”

“People will still die, though. At least if Mason sends people after him, they’re probably better off getting taken out than an agent with a family. He exclusively employs people on the same level as himself.”

“Then this is an ethical dilemma.”

“One that I still have to think about. But Frederick, I think you should be in the loop on all of this. You basically already are, whether you want to be or not.” He took out the letter from his jacket, and Frederick’s shoulders slumped a little. He felt embarrassed over being so afraid of a mere piece of paper.

“You want me to meet with Mason? Give him this communiqué, rather than the FBI?”

“Will you?”

Frederick stared off into the distance for a while. He then got up, and opened the shades in the room.

“Yes,” he said, sitting beside Will and putting his head on his shoulder. “But only if we promise to each other that whatever happens, no more secrets.”

“No more secrets. You have to deal with this. And maybe get some help.”

“For the PTSD,” Frederick sighed. “I know…Will, what do you think this meant? Why did he go to the trouble to write the lines from a Blake poem and have it hand-delivered to me?”

Will took it out of his pocket and read over the lines again. He was familiar with it, of course, but closed his eyes to consider the meaning in this particular context. He hated having to get back into Hannibal’s head, and he was sure Hannibal would know what was what he would do, taking perverse pleasure in that as well as scaring Chilton.

“The usual interpretations of the poem include the idea that love can be dangerous, that passion can cause you to come to harm. Can kill you. And of course it could in pre-modern times, from disease, or death in childbirth. But now, I think he meant it as a warning. And also…that he’s jealous.”

Frederick’s expression went from intense concern at the first part of Will’s statement, to incredulity and finally amusement at the last.

“He’s…jealous…of _me_? Oh that is…” he trailed off at the end, and despite his exhaustion mixed with shaky adrenaline, started to at first giggle, then outright laugh. Uncontrollably, cathartically, tears streaming down his face.

“What…are you ok?” Will asked after it went on for several moments, concerned, but sensing that this amusement was probably a much needed release.

Once Frederick regained the ability to speak, he wiped his eyes, and said, “It’s just that, in all the long history of the infinite universe, the very last thing I ever expected was Hannibal Lecter to be envious of me. The irony is staggering.”

“I think it’s time we got you cleaned up and put some food into you.”

Frederick nodded, putting a quick kiss against the side of Will’s neck.

Sigmund, curious what all the noise was about, had wandered into the room, and jumped up onto his usual perch at the window, now that he could look out of it. He tilted his head at them, and, satisfied that things were back to normal, settled into sleep.

. . . . .

Frederick had settled into the bath that Will had drawn for him. His muscles and joints ached, from sadness and lack of use. Will had helped him get his clothes off, and spent a few moments massaging his shoulders once he’d sank down into the soothing water. He mused that he should take baths more often, and that next time, Will should join him.

“You’re going to be OK if I leave you?” Will asked.

“Yes, I’m doing much better…and I am beginning to realize that I’m absolutely starving.” Will had promised to make him something while he bathed and then shaved.

Will stayed a few moments, to gently wash Frederick’s chest and shoulders with a soft sponge. When he trailed down to his abdomen, Frederick smiled and touched his hand.

“We need to get back to that kind of thing very soon. Don’t you agree?” Frederick said, sounding more calm and happy than he had the entire time.

“I certainly do.” Will brought the hand up to touch Frederick’s face. Then more serious, determined: “I am not going to let anything stand in the way of us, of this.”

“I’ll come with you to see Mason, if you really think that’s the best course.”

“It’s severely lacking in many ways, I will admit, but yes. I think it is.”

“I want you to come back here in a few days. After we’ve gone to see him.”

“Oh?” said Will, allowing a hint of playfulness to creep into his voice.

“Oh, yes,” Frederick replied, drawing Will in for a kiss, full of meaning and promise for what was soon to come.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Frederick pay a visit to Mason Verger.

Riding out to Mason’s farm was a tense experience for the both of them. Although Will had told Frederick everything that had happened between him and Margot, and all expiations were rational and understood, there was the remaining unease of the first meeting between them. That was, however, only a backdrop to the greater discomfort that Frederick felt about having to meet this man, who by all accounts was a much more terrible human being than Hannibal Lecter.

_Why do I attract people like this into my life_ , Chilton thought miserably, and Will could practically hear it. He hoped that he wasn’t included in the list of those Frederick wished he hadn’t met, and assumed he was not – but he still worried that, despite all the evolution and changes that Chilton had undergone, that he still wished on some level for his old life back, before any of them had ever come into it, and well, fucked it up royally.

In a way he was glad that Margot didn’t meet them to take them to go in to see Mason, avoiding that for at least a moment. She was there, though, in the room, looking like she wanted to be literally anywhere else in the world. Frederick didn’t miss this, and his expression towards her, one of true sympathy, made Will feel at least a little better about them having to meet like this.

“It appears you have more in common with my sister than I first expected, Mr. Graham,” Mason said by way of greeting, in a tone devoid of most human feeling, due to his condition; but his sarcasm shone through like a flashlight in the dark.

Frederick shifted uncomfortably, but glared at Mason nonetheless, and said nothing. Will was rather proud of him for that. Mason had shown his true colors quite upfront, and Frederick was unlikely to back down now. Verger knew how to handle animals, but people were another matter.

“And why do you think Hannibal Lecter sent you this poem? ‘The Sick Rose’ by Blake?”

Will answered for them: “We think he’s envious. That he doesn’t want anyone in my life except him. And that he’s warning Dr. Chilton that his involvement with me could be dangerous for him.”

“He’s trying to scare you off?” Mason asked, addressing Frederick directly.

“Yes. He knows that I am likely to be fearful of anything having to do with him after he sent Miriam Lass to kill me.”

“Ah yes. Shot you in the face, didn’t she? Terrible to have your face mutilated. We have that in common then. Do you think Dr. Lecter should pay for what he did to you?” Mason asked hopefully.

“I do, but I’m not willing to put myself or anyone else at further risk to accomplish that.”

“How very noble of you. But I think, Dr. Chilton, I think that you’d be happy to see him suffer, if it came to that.”

Will looked at Frederick, trying to read his emotions. He saw him close his eyes, and straighten his back. When he opened them again, what Chilton said was more of what he wanted to be the truth, rather than what it was. He still harbored a small desire for revenge, despite his wish to rid himself of it, and Mason would likely be able to smell it on him.

“I don’t want anything from him, other than to leave me, leave us, alone.”

Mason changed his line of argument in response. “Surely then you see the need to rid the world of him once and for all? If not for the sake of revenge, then for the sake of your own peace of mind? He won’t stop, you know. Now that he knows about _you two_.” The last was said with the smallest hint of amusement.

Will jumped in at this: “He wouldn’t know anything if it weren’t for your botched attempt at finding him.”

“Water under the bridge, Mr. Graham. Can’t change the past. But I think that he made quite a mistake in sending you that letter. I may be able to get some information from the type of paper the poem was written on, who sells it and the like, and discover what courier service Lecter would’ve used. This may lead us to more locations and aliases. Make it easier to track him down. I know this upset you, Dr. Chilton, but he may have breached his own security by sending it to you.”

“And using it against him may make him more interested in harming Dr. Chilton, or myself, or even you. Keep that well in mind,” Will said.

“I fully believe he would do that anyway. Aren’t the FBI using intelligence from you both, in building their case against him? Even if they try him in absentia, a conviction raises his visibility in international criminal pursuit activities. It makes him vulnerable, if only a little, and I imagine that he would be just as upset with you both for that. There’s really no escape from him while he lives. So you might as well help me,” Mason said gleefully, as if he’d just won an argument.

“Your methods are likely to give him more information on us than actually manage to apprehend him. At least the US government doesn’t have a personal vendetta that could cloud their judgment and make mistakes,” Chilton replied warily.

Mason sat in silence for a few minutes, in what Will could tell was cold anger at the honest assessment just made of him.

“Perhaps you have a point. He did find out a thing or three about you two playing house when the mood strikes you.” This was said purely for spite. Will winced at Frederick’s expression of embarrassment and anger. _Don’t let him get to you_ , he tried to convey, as he stepped an almost imperceptible inch closer to him as he stood clenching his fists.

Mason continued, more politely: “Here’s what I can do. If you help me, keep in contact, tell me anything you find out, I’ll give you protection. Have your place watched, give you a bodyguard, whatever you want.”

“I don’t think that will help, Mr. Verger, but thank you,” Frederick said diplomatically. “I want to live as normal a life as I can. We’ve given you the letter, instead of the FBI, because we think they’re willing to let Hannibal Lecter be the problem of another government, and not deal with him head-on. At least you are. But after today, we can’t promise anything. You can, however, reign in your people and emphasize the need for extreme caution, and not act impulsively.”

“Yes, I do agree on that. Fine. You can split your loyalty, and give me a scrap here, and the FBI a scrap there. If that makes you happy. But sooner or later you are going to have to come to a decision, and choose a side.”

Will and Frederick both knew that, while this might be true, either path was likely a bad choice, if for entirely different reasons. Mason dismissed them, and Margot walked them out to Chilton’s car, which had been pulled up and was waiting for them.

When they were out of earshot, Margot spoke up: “I told him, you know. About my girlfriend. He’s had to give me a lot more access to the finances and other resources, since he can’t do anything for himself, and doesn’t trust his hired gorillas as far as he could throw them.” She laughed at this, as it was an especially ridiculous statement to make about Mason in his state. “So I have a lot more autonomy than before. There’s only so much he can do to make my life difficult. It feels good not sneaking around. I never cared what he thought, it’s just…”

Will turned to her, and said with genuine warmth, “I am very happy for you. And yes, it is all perfectly understandable from your perspective.”

“That’s why he was so asinine to the two of you. He sees any relationship that can’t naturally lead to procreation as frivolous and immature. Despite the fact that he never applied that rule to himself. Everyone, but him, is potential breeding stock.”

Frederick added: “I must say, displeasing your brother may become a favorite pastime of mine.”

“Don’t take him so lightly,” Margot warned. “Even in his present state, if he wants something done, he’s liable to get it accomplished.”

They got in the car, and Will told her to remember that, and apply it to herself as well.

. . . . .

On the way back –taking Will to his place, where they planned to have a simple dinner together before he returned home – Frederick offered his assessment of Mason’s personality.

“Will, Mason is ridiculously dangerous. His narcissism and psychopathy make him reckless.  He’s intelligent, but basically believes he’s immortal. Nothing we do will appease him, and it’s patently obvious that anyone around him is just cannon fodder for his obscene need for revenge. If he gets the chance, he’ll use either or both of us, or even his sister, as bait.”

Will considered this for a moment. “We know these things, though, and he doesn’t understand that anyone can have insight into his personality other than himself.”

“You really feel like he’s that un-self-aware?”

“Don’t you?”

Frederick thought about it carefully, before replying, “It’s a rare level of extreme personality disorder, but I will grant you that if anyone could achieve that, it would be Mason Verger. And if that’s the sense you get from him, I’d be inclined to go with it.”

They drove in silence the rest of the way to Will’s place. When he pulled up and got out, Frederick had the feeling that the place was something akin to a second home to him, a sense that he’d never had about anywhere before. It was so different than any of the living spaces he’d chosen for himself, past or present, but there was nothing but positive associations here. He realized it most likely had more to do with Will than anything tangible about it, but he tried to just let himself feel it, rather than overthink about the reasons why.

He let his attention wander about Will’s yard.

“The tree, the one that got struck by lightning. You haven’t finished cleaning it up…” he didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation of disorder, but some weeks had gone by, and there was still remaining debris.

“Yes, how observant of you. Every time I try to finish dragging the wood to the back so it can properly dry out, I get a phone call from Jack or a summons from Mason or something.”

“It’s just strange to me. I haven’t really thought about it much, but it’s at least in part responsible for…well, for us.”

“Divine providence, then” Will said smiling, and put his arm around Frederick. They stood there looking at it for a few minutes, both musing about all the strange things that had led them down this path, and it where it might still lead them.

Frederick cleared his throat, voice sounding a little more broken and high-pitched than usual. “Are you still interested in coming out to my place in a few days? After we’ve had a chance to clear our heads of Mason Verger?”

By way of an answer, Will turned Frederick to face him, and kissed him gently on the lips. They both knew what their next time together would bring. Frederick was positively vibrating with the anticipation of it, and Will could easily feel both his excitement and nervousness, as the thought that he was intending to give himself to Will, fully and completely, occupied his mind. If Will had _truly_ been a mind-reader, he would have known that it was the only thing that Chilton had thought about lately that he truly cared to. All the fear about Hannibal, and the worry about Mason, was a distraction.

“Having you share my bed again is the only thing worth occupying my mind with,” he said quietly.    

“That’s funny,” Will said, putting his forehead to Frederick’s. “I was just thinking exactly the same thing.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Frederick finally spend a long-awaited night together.

Although Kade Prurnell had told them that the trial of Hannibal Lecter would begin in two weeks, that was about three weeks ago, and nothing as yet had been scheduled; at least to Will’s knowledge. The Grand Jury had decided to proceed with it, but there were no judges available. Will suspected that he would get a call to show up with very little notice; but nothing like that would happen on a Saturday or Sunday, so he made plans to go to Frederick’s loft on a Friday night, and to spend the entire weekend.

He arrived with a couple of days’ worth of clothes; although their relationship had become very close, Will still worried that he might appear presumptuous to assume he could stay all weekend, but he brought them nevertheless. He felt like things would have solidified between them even further by the time he departed.

He also brought some food; it was difficult thinking of things that Frederick could eat, so he’d cooked an assortment of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean vegetable dishes, and packed them along. He was never sure what Frederick would or wouldn’t have, so he also brought bread and rice, pasta and tomato sauce he’d made himself, and various herbs, and fruit and even batter to make them crepes in the morning. For a moment, he was uncomfortably reminded of all the times that Hannibal brought him food. But this wasn’t a time for dwelling on all of that. And besides, Frederick had been obviously working out in his building’s small gym. He hadn’t said anything about it, but he was positively lean, compared to when he was tottering around on his ridiculous cane. Will thought that he himself was starting to get a bit soft, not being able to work around his land or go fishing as much as he’d done in the past. _So maybe_ , he thought, _I am subconsciously trying to fatten him up_.  The idea made him laugh.

It was just getting into July. The weather had been dry, but tonight was humid, and he felt that a storm was approaching. In fact, looking at the weather radar, it appeared that something was coming in from the northwest, and would be there by later that evening. He hoped to beat it, and get Frederick up on his roof top terrace with his telescope to view Mars and Jupiter just beginning to be visible in the night sky that time of year, off to the southwest.

Arriving too late for dinner that night, Will had made sure to bring some light things that could be brought up there with them as they began their evening in a relaxed way. He was nervous about himself, and could only imagine what Frederick was feeling.

. . . . .

As Will suspected, Frederick was, in fact, feeling incredibly tense. It wasn’t anything like dread, but more like intense anticipation. Like he was a teenager again. Which, he thought, was utterly ridiculous. They’d spent several nights together already. Done everything except…that which they were going to do tonight. He’d spent almost all of his waking hours thinking of Will since they’d been together last, parting and planning for this a few days before. He had hardly slept. Dreams were pleasant, but vivid, and he found himself waking up with unusual frequency. Sigmund began to take advantage of the situation, realizing that Frederick was up and available to pet him in the middle of the night. He was glad Will was coming later on in the evening; he couldn’t face the idea of making an entire dinner, and being too nervous to eat it.

So when Will showed up with enough food for several meals, things he’d clearly took time making for several days, Frederick felt a bit bad about not offering to make him something.

“Oh, Will, you did not have to go through all of this trouble,” he said, while helping him take things from out of the car. It would take at least two trips. At least he’d not brought any wine, as Frederick still had almost his entire collection, which hadn’t been touched much since he’d moved in.

“I thought it was the least I could do, since um…I was wondering if I could stay couple of days. Not just tonight.”

“Of course. But you still didn’t have to prepare all of this.”

“I thought we might just stay in. I didn’t want us to have to go out for anything.”

Getting off the elevator into the loft, Frederick tried not to look too pleased at this.

“I was thinking we could go and look at some things in the sky with the telescope. But we’d have to do it soon, there’s a storm coming in.” Will said.

“Sounds lovely.”

Frederick got a couple of wine glasses, and something he thought would go well with the baba ghanoush that Will had brought.

Getting up to the roof garden, Will noticed that Chilton had planted a few things; tomatoes, some peppers, climbing beans of some kind, and flowers. A small container garden that would be perfect for the space.

“I plan on making what I can out of this when it’s ready to harvest. Never grown anything before.”

“It’s perfect,” Will said, helping him get the telescope out of the small storage space.

Frederick busied himself uncovering and setting it up while Will put out the food he’d brought: the creamy eggplant dish, along with some vegetables, pita bread, olives, and seasoned oil.

They sat and ate the small meal and drank the wine, a dry, but not overwhelming red zinfandel that accompanied it perfectly. Frederick found he was hungrier than he thought, as he began to relax and forget his nervousness.

Looking through the telescope where Will had pointed it, he marveled at how huge and red Mars looked; both it and Jupiter were visible with the naked eye, even among the city lights of the Baltimore sky, but looking at them this way was vastly better. 

“You should let me show you some things when you’re back at my place again. About the sky I mean,” Will said coyly when Frederick smiled at him. “The light pollution is much less, obviously.”

Frederick slipped onto the chaise that Will was sitting on, nestling in beside him, signifying that tonight’s astronomy lesson was over.

Just as he did, a rumble of thunder echoed amongst the taller buildings.

“We’ll have to go in soon,” Frederick said.

“Yes, but, not just yet. I thought we could talk for a few minutes.”

“What about?”

“I just want to make sure you’re still ok with us. After meeting Margot.”

“Oh, that,” Frederick said, a little relieved. “I really haven’t been dwelling on it. I understand why you didn’t say anything, the whole situation from before…it’s almost inexplicable. Everything from before is. It’s like an old dream to me now. It’s hard to believe any of it happened. If it weren’t for these rather prominent scars we both have, I would say it was all just a nightmare.”

Will rested his hand on Frederick’s chest, snaked around his back. “But it’s not like you just woke up one day and it was all changed. You’ve worked for it. You could just as easily gone back to your old life, and tried to patch it together. But you chose a different path. You’re open now, not selfish or defensive.”

“You could have done the same, Will. At least, you didn’t have to open up to me.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, letting it sink in. Their connection wasn’t some kind of trick of fate; they’d both consciously decided to allow it, and it had turned out better than either could have imagined.

Another rumble of thunder. Will finally said: “If you haven’t been thinking about that, what have you been? You have seemed very distracted this whole evening.”

“Have I? I’m sorry if so. I’ve been thinking about you.”

“And what have you been thinking about me, Frederick?” Will asked rather darkly.

By way of an answer, Will found his hand being drawn up to Frederick’s parted lips, and his index finger slowly drawn in and out of his mouth.

He leaned forward just slightly to kiss Frederick’s neck, who took it as a sign to keep going, and added a second finger to the first, sucking now in earnest.

Will moved his free hand to start unbuttoning Frederick’s light shirt. He got about half way down, and felt inside to stroke his chest, and lightly pinch a hardened nipple.

Frederick took an arm and placed it over Will’s as he pressed back into his lap; Will’s legs were basically wrapped around him now, and he twisted around, finally stopping the finger sucking he was so ardently engaged in.  Their mouths met, in a sort of sideways kiss, and Frederick felt completely enveloped by his arms and body.

Breathless, they finally had to stop when the wind picked up and the thunder brought spidery lightning off in the distance.

“We should-”

“Yes, I know,” Frederick replied, panting hard. “I’ll put the telescope away, you get the other things downstairs.”

They got up, and Frederick was nearly off his feet with dizziness, having stood up a bit too fast. Will caught hold of him, and kissed him full on, just for a moment, before another much louder boom was heard in the distance. He laughed for a second as he caught his footing, then moved to put the thing back in the shed, and cover the furniture, quickly following behind Will just as the first drops of rain started to hit.

When he got inside, he made sure that the windows were actually _open_ all over his loft; since it was an old building, the windows had crank-levers that opened them outwards, so rain could not get in, unless it was extraordinarily torrential. Screens were a modern addition; he wanted to let the air get as fresh as possible throughout the loft, and it was not yet hot enough to require air conditioning.  And, in his mind, it set a certain mood.

Frederick walked into the kitchen just as Will was finishing putting the remainder of the food away; he walked up to him, took him by the hand, and led him into the bedroom.

As his shirt was nearly completely unbuttoned, he completed the job, and started on Will’s. He wasn’t used to taking the initiative quite this much in their relationship, and his hands were shaking as he took each button in his fingers. Will let him do it without trying to assist. When he got about half-way down, he pressed his lips to Will’s exposed flesh; Will tilted his head back, thoroughly enjoying the warm kisses that were fluttering against his skin.

When his shirt was divested, Will embraced Frederick, kissing him as deeply as he had wanted to up on the roof deck. He was still trembling in his arms, but began to relax into it as Will parted his lips with his tongue. Frederick thought that the strength of Will’s arms was enough to calm him in any situation. Just then, a much louder rumble of thunder broke the silence, and the rain began hitting the upturned windows with force. He took it as a sign that he should let go, just as the storm had, and began kissing back, hard, and guided Will to the edge of the bed.

Breaking the kiss, he started to unzip Will’s jeans with much steadier hands this time, as he stepped out of them, wearing now only boxers. Frederick kissed up Will’s neck, to his ear, and breathed, voice heavy: “I want you.”

Will took the cue, and pulled them both onto the bed, with Frederick uttering a little huff of surprise. Will was busy working at the buttons on his pants, as he was being kissed furiously, all up and down his collar bones to his ear. Frederick managed to wriggle out of them, and they continued in a panting tangle of limbs until they were both overheated and breathless. Will, who had gained the upper position, slipped a hand into Frederick’s enticingly small underwear, and was rewarded with a breathy groan as his hand stroked the hard length inside of them. Frederick leaned back, just slightly propped up on his elbows, as Will ran his fingers up and down his cock.

“I can’t ever believe how good you make me feel,” Frederick said quietly, almost reverentially. No one had ever taken the time to ensure that he was receiving as much pleasure as he gave. It made him feel a strange mix of relief and sadness; he tried, successfully, to focus on the former.

Will finally slid Frederick’s tiny underwear around his hips, exposing his cock, and making him breathless with the suddenness of it. The thunder had subsided to a dull rumble, and the rain had picked up, beating against the windows in a steady dirge.

“I plan on making you feel very, very, good Frederick,” he said, as he leaned over the aching cock in front of him, and ran his tongue up the underside. Frederick wanted to watch, but he was finding it difficult to keep from arching his back and tilting his head back at the warm wetness of Will’s mouth. He found himself thrusting into it, and soon gave up trying to do anything, save let himself go.

Will began caressing his thighs, both relaxing him and arousing him, preparing him for what was to come. He’d left a small bottle of lube on the bedside table, and reached with his free hand to retrieve it, slickening up his fingers. He began stroking Frederick’s perineum, causing him to moan loudly, and move rhythmically against Will’s fingers. It was the only thing he could do, desperately wanting more, and unable to voice it.

Understanding that he was ready, Will kept sucking his cock, and gently probed at Frederick’s entrance with one finger. He arched into the contact, and Will added a second. Curling his fingers upwards, Will massaged his prostate, and pulled back to watch his responses.

Frederick had gotten increasingly used to the sensations, so intense they were almost meditative, that he was able to watch what was being done to him again. He sat up just a little, and watched as Will’s other hand stroked his hard cock; watched as drops of precum started leaking from the swollen, reddened head; and watch, with a quiet whine driven from his throat, as Will licked off every drop as it emerged from the wet slit.

He tried to regulate his breathing as much as he could, but it was getting uneven.

With a voice that sounded deeper and darker than he had ever heard himself speak in, Frederick said: “Will, I’m ready. Please. Now.”

Delivering one last, long stroke of his tongue up and over Frederick’s cock, Will slowly removed his fingers as Frederick slid up the bed, allowing Will to position himself between his thighs. He leaned over to kiss him, parting his lips with his tongue, as he slickened his cock, hard from touching and sucking Frederick. He didn’t stop kissing him, penetrating his mouth with his questing tongue, as he finally began penetrating his ass for the first time. He wanted to capture and save every breath, every moan, as he felt the impossibly tight, hot slickness envelop him, sliding in slowly, but fully.

All the way inside, he stopped, allowing Frederick to adjust to the new sensation and to catch his breath; waited until he felt him move beneath him, and wrap his legs around his waist, lifting his knees up so Will could go deeper still; felt Frederick’s body curl around his, and move with him as he began to thrust.

Resting his lips against Will’s neck, Frederick began to utter strings of words, not fully pronounced, but altogether encouraging Will to go _harder_ and _faster_ , when he could be understood. His cock, trapped between their bodies ever-slicker with sweat, throbbed and pulsed in time with the hammering of his heart and the feeling of Will inside of him; synched up with the sound of flesh against flesh as he was fucked ever harder. The scent of the rain combined with their arousal, and he felt himself beginning to lose himself in it all.

Will’s thrusts quickened as he began to feel Frederick writhing under him, so close; he changed the angle of his hips just a few degrees, putting more direct contact and pressure against Frederick’s prostate, employing slightly shallower thrusts, until he heard him gasping and keening against his neck; he thrust harder as his orgasm built, and pushed him into it, further and further, drawing it out of him along with his cries. The feeling of him, all hot and rhythmic contractions around his cock, brought Will closer himself.

When Frederick’s body went limp, gone slack from the force of his ebbing orgasm, Will pulled back, feeling Frederick’s cum covering both of them, and raised his legs by pressing on the undersides of his thighs. He held his hips, and quick, deep thrusts, brought him over the edge. Coming back to consciousness, Frederick met each one, marveling at how Will gave himself over to it, breathing hard, head back, and looking like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Will leaned back over him, and they came down together. The sound of the rain and their breathing was all that either could hear.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first of a three-chapter arc of their weekend together, before the drama resumes.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of a rather pleasant interlude; the calm before the storm.

They were not interested in moving, disentangling their arms, or shifting Will's legs off of Frederick's. The heat of their bodies, rather than being stifling, was reassuring and comfortable as their mingled breath was like life itself. But staying in this position forever was not a realistic option, and as soon as he felt himself drifting off, Will grudgingly forced himself awake, and reluctantly rolled to the side, head still resting against Frederick's arm.

He reached out in the dark, and stroked it gently; wondering if he'd fallen asleep, just as he almost had. But instead, his fingers were covered with a broad, warm hand, which, while not tentative in its touch, was trembling ever so slightly.

"Frederick...are you ok?" Will asked, and found that his voice had a minute waver to it as well.

"I am fine, but I don't think I'm 'ok' precisely. That was...."

He trailed off. Will could tell he was trying to find words, so did not prompt him to continue.

"It was...intense...I don't think I expected that. I don't know what I expected. Good," he said abruptly, not wanting Will to think he was anything but pleased. "Good...amazing....I just didn't think about it being so powerful. It was like you poured yourself into me, and now I feel more than I was. Changed. I just was not anticipating..."

Will recognized his place to talk had come. "Don't try to think too much. Just pay attention to how you feel. What do you need, right now?"

The slight tremor in the hand covering his faded, as Frederick listened to the advice, and paid attention to the needs of his body.

"I think I need to take a shower. And not by myself."

Will smiled. "That is an excellent idea."

Moving as quickly as their slightly aching bodies would allow - Will reflected that a shower would feel absolutely incredible at this point - Frederick let him go first into the bathroom, since he determined he needed, rather desperately, to change the sheets. He wouldn't allow Will to help, playfully landing a firm slap on his ass when he tried.

Alone for a moment, Will had the chance to reflect on what Frederick had said. That he felt _changed_. He took the responsibility of that very seriously. He couldn’t help but think of how he felt with Hannibal, how it had made him feel different when they were first together. He had felt known, and accepted, for the first time. But Hannibal’s narcissism that drove the connection, mixed with true affection. Will would not have been blinded otherwise, if part of it hadn't been real. He sighed with the memory that had made him so pensive. But the antidote, of course, was the present situation. Frederick wasn't capable of that type of deception, and his narcissism had been cut from him as he had lost everything, forced to confront the unadorned truth about himself.

Just then, shaking him out of his reflective mood, Frederick came into the bathroom. He went straight to the shower, turned it on, and got in.

"Well, what are you waiting for, a written invitation?" he said, trying to sound smarmy on purpose.

Will joined him immediately.

Frederick was already totally wet, diving under the spray just as Will had gotten in. He let Will do the same, and found himself pressed up against the tile, as Will made a show of "not having enough room," as an excuse to cover Frederick's back with his chest. He reached around to stroke his abdomen, just to the side of Frederick's old scar. He kissed the back of his neck, above the exit wound. He almost forgot it was there as Will's hand roamed freely over his body, front to back, and down to the cleft of his ass. He braced himself against the wall, and gasped as Will gently washed him, kissing him at the same time. He felt graceful, strong fingers massaging the sensitive flesh, so unused to being penetrated as he had been.

Will turned him around, and looked into his eyes, such a rich dark green, and more open than he'd ever seen them.

Frederick returned the favor by soaping Will's chest, down his ribcage, and teased at his cock, half aroused from all the slippery touching. Frederick meant to gradually excite him once again; he wasn't finished with this night, never, in fact, wanted to let it end. He suspected they might give in to sleep sooner rather than later, but he intended to make Will want him all the more, just now, to hang on to it a little bit longer.

Will found it all delightfully transparent, and kissed him, hard, under the rushing water, allowing Frederick to keep stroking him lightly for a moment more; then taking his hand and pinning it against the tile, savoring the moan that escaped his covered mouth as their hard lengths slid together, Will's hips moving in small circles.

When he felt Frederick’s thighs begin to tremble, he pulled away. He turned off the tap, and led Frederick out by the hand, indicating he should dry off as quickly possible. His plan had worked, and he wanted to get him back into the bed immediately.

They barely had dried off when they slid back into bed together, kissing continuously; each other’s hands finding its way to a hard cock, needing to be touched so desperately. They took their time, slowly continuing to inflame each other’s passions, building need insistently, never allowing it to falter. Sighing, as one, a tongue sweeping over a bitten lip; Will’s hand over Frederick’s thicker length, a larger hand against Will’s, aching so much he thought he might not be able to take much more. A sharp intake of breath as more pressure was used, sliding easier over precum slickened lengths. It would not have been easy to pull their experiences apart, or know who was responsible for each individual breathy moan. Frederick was the first to begin to thrust into Will’s hand, and they knew then that it was time to move on to something else, equally shared, and more intimate still.

With one last small bite of Frederick’s lower lip, Will turned on his hip, gracefully, and positioned himself between the other man’s thighs, resting his head there, preparing to stay and be in a comfortable position for as long as he could be there.

Frederick caught on very fast, and took Will gently into his mouth, only slightly, tongue pressing into the wet slit. Will followed, the vibration of his whimper the only thing that escaped as he took the length of Frederick all the way down his throat. They had meant to make this last, but this simultaneous giving and receiving of pleasure was not a thing that could be controlled, not for long.

They devoured, as if they were both starving. Solid thrusts, side by side, only breaking for air when absolutely needed; the position made for ease of muscle use, and was made for extended moments of pure, deep sucking. Will’s perception made it easy for him to anticipate, to feel when he should go softer, then harder, to provoke the strongest response. Frederick was good at mirroring him, so before long, they were a trembling conjunction of limbs.

Despite his technique being impossible for Frederick to resist, Will found himself tipping first over the edge. It was the moaning he himself provoked that did it; the feel of the sounds reverberating around his cock, deep in Frederick’s mouth, and his hips began to thrash erratically. Frederick held him steady, making sure to allow for movement, but still providing enough friction with his tight, hot mouth that Will thought his mind would break forever.

When he came back to his senses, he shifted again, pulling Frederick to the edge of the bed, and kneeling between his thighs, which he spread far apart. Flat on his back, Frederick reached down to stroke Will’s soft hair, entangling his fingers through it, as Will skillfully brought him close, backed down, and brought him close again. Frederick had already been near to release when Will had cum; this was driving him insane, and Will knew it full well. The benefit to Will now was that he could hear each gasp, every whimper, and he could draw them out for as long as he wished.

But even now, he knew he should bring this to its longed-for end, as Frederick’s whole body was shaking, and the sounds he was making had blended into one long cry. Will took his cock deep into the back of his throat, let him thrust, and savored the pulsing as thick and hot, he felt the release course against his tongue.

It seemed to go on for rather a long time, the fingers still in his hair. He finally felt Frederick relax, all the tension gone from him. With effort, Frederick moved back to rest his head on a pillow, and made room for Will to lie beside him. Will just managed to lay an arm across Frederick’s heaving chest before he ceased being able to move. They stayed that way, next to each other, listening to the other breathe.

It was well past 3 AM now. Neither wanted to sleep, but both were beyond exhausted. There was plenty of time in the morning, the next day and night, and the morning after that…and beyond. The realization of that hit Frederick with an intensity he was unused to. He thought about the fact that they would be able to repeat this performance, whenever they got the chance. It wasn’t a common thought for him. He wanted to just drift off, in Will’s arms, but felt like he should share as much of what he was thinking as he was able to articulate.

“Will, I…I want to tell you something, but…” he began, coherently enough, but trailed off before he could even say anything of substance.

Will laughed just a little. He knew Frederick was bad at expressing how he felt, but even for him, this was an underwhelming attempt.

“Maybe you should let me say what I can first.”

He paused, unsure he should say what he was thinking, but knowing it had to be said.

“You may not want to hear this, but earlier, before we came back to bed, I was thinking about how you said you felt changed. That it was a great responsibility, for me to hear something like that. I’d been changed too, in the past, but not for the better. With…well, with _him_.”

It felt like it would shatter their little realm of safety to actually say Hannibal’s name, and Will felt Frederick flinch just a little even bringing him up.

He continued, holding him a little closer: “He only cared for me – and he _did_ care for me, which makes it all that much worse – because I reflected something of him. He saw himself in me. He wasn’t wrong. But what he saw wasn’t all of me; it was just the parts he wanted to see.”

“I think I understand. Will, you’re so much more than what he saw.”

“I know that now. And you are so much more than what you were. I don’t…care for you…because I see myself in you. I care for you because of the part you chose of yourself to carry forward, after everything that happened. And for the parts of me that you bring to the surface. You’re the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.”

Hearing about being _cared for_ was more than he expected; Frederick had felt it from Will, felt it in every touch and kiss, but hadn’t yet heard him say it. He brought Will’s hand to his mouth, pressed his swollen lips to Will’s palm. The rain had stopped, and all was quiet, save their breathing. He wanted to say so much, and knew now he had the time in which to say it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It can't be this nice forever. But maybe just a little while longer...


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning sex, couch sex, bed sex...so...much...sex.

Frederick hadn’t even noticed that he’d drifted off. When he woke up, and looked blearily at the clock which read 12:15, and saw that it was light out – sunny, in fact, since the rain had stopped – he was startled to realize that was 12:15 _PM_. He remembered putting out some extra cat food, which is why Sigmund hadn’t bothered them, but chances are they’d have to get up soon.

Still, he wanted to do anything but. Will was wrapped around him, and they were side-by-side. He shifted, and Will shifted with him. It was so comfortable, he was in no rush to end it any time soon, though hunger was brewing, and slight growling was audible. He realized that it was actually Will’s stomach making the noise. _Damn, we have to get up_.

Experimentally, he pressed a little bit backwards against the man behind him, and realized that his upper thigh was coming into contact with Will’s rather hard length. He kept moving, rocking his hips, and soon the hand wrapped around his chest began stroking his skin. _Success_ , he thought.

Will had also come gradually to wakefulness, realizing that Frederick was grinding on him a little. He was hesitant to penetrate him again so soon; as it was clearly something Frederick had enjoyed, and as he was evidently eager to have Will take him again, Will was tempted. But he’d decided to wait, give him time to both recover physically, and process it mentally. He thought of a suitable alternative.

Chilton’s thighs were incredible; Will loved touching them, kissing them; they’d grown even more solid since he’d been getting exercise, but they were still wonderfully soft and warm. His hand splayed on Frederick’s chest, holding him firmly in place. He felt his breath quicken, and his heart rate pick up; he could read the beginnings of his arousal without even needing to stray his hand downwards. Will nudged one knee in between Frederick’s legs, allowing his cock to slip between those ever-enticing thighs. Frederick caught on quickly, tightening his muscles around Will’s hardness, which began to slip in and out of the embrace they’d created.

Soon sliding was easier, as Will’s cock began to leak. He reached a hand down to where he knew Frederick would be achingly hard, and brought one of his lover’s large hands to cover it, while he continued to assist, covering it with his smaller hand. Frederick was squeezing in perfect rhythm to the pumping of their joined hands, arching his back, and tilting his head.

Will’s thrusting became erratic, and Frederick was very much enjoying the sound of his breathing, directly over his ear, which was soon punctuated by small whimpers as his arousal grew beyond his control. Frederick rocked backwards faster, trying to time the muscular contractions with Will’s movements. Whimpers turned to moans as Will held him closer, and he cried out as he came; a half-pronounced combination of “Frederick” and “fuck” and “yes” and it was so beautiful to hear, and so intensely erotic, that Frederick came hard and fast just a moment after he heard his name said that way.

They stayed together, catching their breath. After a few moments, Frederick broke the panting silence: “You were holding back. You wanted to be inside of me again. Why didn’t you?” It was said as a nearly-innocent question, the kind that would be posed by someone who was quite new to all of this, as he of course was. As if he wanted to learn the rules of this new game.

Will kissed the back of his neck, and extricated himself, despite wanting to keep his body pressed up against Frederick’s warm back. When they were face to face gain, Will touched his face.

“I honestly didn’t want to hurt you. You need to see if you’re in any pain. And selfishly, I was wanting to do it again when I know it’ll last longer. When I know I can take you slowly at first, like I did last night, but then read every line of need and desire on your face, and take you harder.”

Frederick felt a shudder of pure lust go through his body, and he gasped. Looking Will straight in the eyes, he knew he was being completely sincere. And he could barely wait to make it a reality.

But it was clearly time to get out bed; he could hear Sigmund meowing in the kitchen. Since Frederick was more in need of cleaning up than Will, he jumped in the shower first, while Will kindly fed the cat. This also gave him time to get some coffee going, and start to assemble their _extremely_ late breakfast; by the time Frederick got in to the kitchen, there was a small pile of crepes made, and the fruit compote that Will had made at home was warming on the stove. Will noted with some interest that Frederick was only wearing the rather skimpy pair of shorts he’d once worn to do work on his yard, which seemed like a year ago, though it had in actuality only been a few weeks. It was going to be a hot day, and he went around opening the windows while Will admired an entirely different kind of view.

They were both starving by now, and ate without conversation, other than the occasional pleased sound of approval.

Breakfast finished, they retired to the couch. Frederick rested his head sleepily against Will’s chest, as they sat close together. The tentatively trailed his hand down to his abdomen, and traced the scar with his thumb. Will didn’t resist; instead he watched as the fingers traced the pinkish-white skin of the old wound. He felt Frederick’s interest in it, the way he covered it with the flat of his hand. Will’s scar was smaller than Frederick’s abdominal wound, but much more noticeable; yet it represented a break from the past, the last time he would allow Hannibal to hurt him, no matter what came.

Will allowed his index finger to fall over the jagged exit wound scar on the back of Frederick’s neck. He didn’t resist either, didn’t shy away from Will’s touch. All of it represented acceptance. He was first to talk, after a contemplative silence, stroking Fredericks’ hair; he always marveled at how thick and soft it was.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“What are your plans for working? Have you put more thought into it? You can’t just knock around here forever with your cat.”

“No. But I have you to visit.”

“You know what I mean.”

Frederick sighed. He had thought about it, but couldn’t come up with any answers.

“I have an idea,” Will said. “You could teach at the academy. They’re always looking for someone to do more Abnormal Psych classes.”

Frederick chuckled. “Yes, well…that is something I have had rather a lot of experience with. But not teaching.”

“Neither did I. But experience is what counts there. And I think you’d do well.”

“That is an interesting thought,” Frederick said hopefully.

“You’d see me more often, that’s for sure.”

“Mmm,” Frederick said, leaning into Will’s hand, still running his fingers through his hair. “The best job perk of all. Will…do you have an office there?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, you know…just thinking about meeting you in the hallway.” He cleared his throat, and spoke in a parody of formality. “‘Mr. Graham, I have a concern about a student’s academic performance I’d like to discuss with you in your office. Do you have a moment?’”

Will smiled. “‘Of course, Dr. Chilton. Please come in.’”

His mind’s eye saw it clearly. Locking the door behind them. Their hands all over each other in an instant, kissing furiously.

Frederick felt Will’s breath quicken, and knew exactly what he was picturing.

“I think I’d like to take up residence under your desk.”

Will’s sharp intake of air let Frederick know he enjoyed that prospect immensely.

“Everyone would know, of course. There would be talk.”

“I wouldn’t care. I’m done with caring about what people think of me. Let them talk. Don’t you think it would be worth it?” he asked with a slight pout to his voice.

“I don’t know,” Will said teasingly. “Why don’t you show me what I’d be getting in return?”

Sliding his hand down Will’s body, Frederick playfully dropped to his knees in front of Will, and slid his boxers off without a moment’s hesitation. He was already mostly aroused at all the talk of office encounters, and Frederick gleefully took his length down, teasing at the leaking slit with his tongue.

“You are indescribably good at that,” Will sighed, as he watched.

Frederick _was_ good at it, mainly because he enjoyed it so much. It was meditative to him. He thought of nothing else but exploring every detail of Will’s cock, of extracting sounds of pleasure; thought only of the hand that trailed lazily through his hair, and the gentle thrusting into the back of his mouth. The scent of Will, like earth after a rainstorm, mixed with a heady sweetness that made him drunk.

It certainly never took very long until Will was groaning, bucking his hips, and spilling into his throat. He sealed his lips around the surging hardness, swallowing, until he needed to breathe, silently cursing his need for oxygen.

. . . . .

Most of the rest of the day was spent lounging around, in various states of undress; it turned out to be the first very warm day of the season, and rather than put the air conditioning on, they just went about mostly (or completely) unclothed for the remainder of the day. Will tried very hard not to laugh when Frederick wore an apron, and nothing else, while putting together their dinner.

“If you get anything on yourself, I’ll just lick it off, you know,” he chided.

“Don’t tempt me,” Frederick answered.

After dinner, Will took a long shower, and contemplated all the things that had happened. They were together. Him and Frederick Chilton. It nearly boggled his mind. But it was…right. Comfortable, natural. So different than any other relationship in the past, _especially_ his most recent one. This wasn’t fraught with darkness and death. There were problems, of course; Lecter still out there. The impending trial. The ever-increasing meddling of Mason Verger. But all of those things made him more fiercely defensive of _this_. They’d both been such lost people, and had found each other. Nothing was going to take that away.

Will had returned from his shower without putting anything back on. It seemed pointless at this juncture; Frederick had of course removed the apron after dinner, and the fact that they wound up naked, on the couch again, unable to keep their hands and mouths off of each other even for a second, made another round of sex inevitable. Frederick pretended to be surprised to find a bottle of lubricant in the cushions - he’d of course stashed it there while Will was in the shower – and made a parody of giving up, opening the bottle, and pouring some on to Will’s rapidly hardening erection.

This forwardness was new. It was more or less impossible to resist though, not that Will would have wanted to. Yesterday had just been the first time, of many, and they both knew it. Frederick straddled Will’s lap, continuing to stoke him into hardness.

“Go slow, Frederick.”

Bracing his hand against the back of the couch, Chilton did exactly as he was instructed. Will held his slickened length, and Frederick eased it inside of himself, just a little at a time, and rocked back upwards. It was enticing and frustrating for both of them; Frederick had to fight the instinct to sink down on Will’s cock all at once, and Will had to resist thrusting upwards. This was still something that Frederick was unaccustomed to, and Will wanted to avoid making it painful for him.

Gradually, agonizingly, he finally took all of Will inside of him. He was breathless with the effort; they stayed that way for several moments, holding one another, kissing deeply, as Frederick got used to the feeling of Will filling him so completely. But it was irresistible to start moving his hips a little, and soon, Will was thrusting up into him. The sheen of sweat that covered their bodies made it easier to slide against each other.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Will sighed.

As he had promised that morning, Will studied Frederick’s face. His eyes were wide and his pupils blown with lust. This was pleasant, comfortable, warm; but he could see that there was wanting, for more, than this position could provide. Will was happy to oblige the desire he so clearly read.

The short trip to the bed was a blur of hands and hard kisses. Last time, the night before, Will had taken Frederick slowly, deliberately, allowing him to become accustomed to the feelings and sensations. This time, they’d been building each other up all day, and Will needed to be back inside of him so badly; the couch had just been a prelude to the main course. He wanted to ravish him.

Frederick was beginning to be able to sense Will’s desires as well, and a deep need to satisfy them had been kindling inside of him. He realized it, now; it had been at the back of his mind ever since they’d first kissed. He wanted to please Will, at the deepest part of his being. It was because of this, that Frederick knew to pull away from their ardent embrace, and kneel on the bed, head down, with his hands braced against the headboard.

Will moaned at the sight of him. He quickly took the lubricant, another bottle lying on the bedside table, and poured it down the cleft of Frederick’s ass; he shivered in response, breathing out a needy “Yes,” when he felt Will enter him.

It was done smoothly, but forcefully. Long, firm strokes, accompanied by the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and a symphony of satisfied whines from Frederick, and deep sounds of pleasure, falling from Will’s lips. He grasped a hip with one hand, and the other he used to pump Frederick’s length in time with his thrusts.

“Please Will, please, harder, harder, HARDER.” He knew it was his own voice, but Frederick could not recognize it. It was full of abandon, so passionate, so _wanting_. His true voice; Will had forced it from his throat.

He’d been able to hold himself up this far, but Frederick’s arms failed him, and he buried his face in the pillow. Will went harder still; somehow this made it better, Frederick unable to do anything except take all that Will could give. Muffled cries increased in their intensity, and he felt the rhythmic pulsing around his cock that let him know that Frederick was cumming hard.

Frederick did his best to keep his knees braced on the bed, but found that his conscious mind was letting go, giving in to the pleasure of Will sliding against his prostate. He collapsed, slowly downwards, and felt nothing but the bliss of Will beginning to orgasm, heard nothing but his delicious moans, drank it all in, knowing he was the cause.

Finally, Will collapsed too. Only the sound of their rough, hard breathing existed; only the feel of each other’s bodies. It would have been wise to get up, clean off; but it also would have been completely impossible.

. . . . .

Instead of a nice, leisurely, seductive morning like the one they’d had on Saturday, the wake-up on Sunday was much more abrupt, and far too early. Will’s phone was buzzing. There were few people who had the number, and few reasons they would use it. He looked at it, resigned. Frederick rolled over and studied Will’s face as it darkened when he saw who was calling.

“It’s Jack,” Will said ominously.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now begins the trial. Or should I say, trials?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal's trial begins, and Will is not happy to have Frederick have to listen to all of his testimony.

“I see...yes, I understand. I’ll be there. I’ll let Dr. Chilton know, you don’t have to bother with calling him. It’s better if he hears it from me. See you tomorrow.”

Will put the phone down, and reached out to Frederick, who’d gone rather tense.

“It’s the trial isn’t it,” Frederick said flatly.

“They found a judge. They want to start immediately. Prurnell won’t stand for any more delays. Pulled some strings. I know this isn’t going to be easy for you. And Jack...Bella is still hanging on, and this is going to take him away from her.”

Frederick was shaken out of feeling sorry for himself by mention of Jack’s plight. He felt like he could get through it with Will there with him, however traumatized he was. Agent Crawford would not be so lucky; the person who would be able to help him through hard times was slipping away. No matter how anyone might support him, he’d have to face it alone.

He suspected this is why Will mentioned it up front.

“Jack has some files waiting for me. I’m going to have to pick them up soon, and take them home to read, compare them to some things he sent me before. Frederick, I...”

“You have to go.”

“Yes. I wanted to spend the rest of the day with you.”

Frederick rested his head on Will’s shoulder.

“I wanted that too. We’ll have other days, though. Won’t we?”

Will was extremely pleased that Frederick was trying to make him feel better, in spite of his sadness and fear.

“We’ll have so many more days. When this is over, you’re spending the weekend at my place. No choice in the matter.”

Will leaned over and kissed him; the statement was as much a command as a promise.

. . . . .

After Will left, Frederick had thought he’d be mopey for the rest of the day. He wasn’t though; he spent the morning cleaning up, putting away the food that still remained. The food Will had made for them, for him. He found himself laughing when he found the apron, carelessly tossed behind the couch, left right where it had been when Will had taken it off of him. He smiled as he washed what seemed like endless amounts of bedsheets. He realized this was what making memories with someone felt like. And that you had to be away from them for a while to solidify them.

After eating something, he decided to really look at some of the books on PTSD he had. It wasn’t wise to self-diagnose, less so to self-treat, but he wasn’t entirely sure that it would be possible to find a therapist who could understand the full extent of what had happened to him. It was stupid of him to have not sought help after being gutted by Abel Gideon. But maybe doing as Will suggested would be the most therapeutic thing of all – teaching about abnormal psychology. Imparting the wisdom of his experience. Talking about things rationally. Thinking through it all that way; removed from it, but being honest. Will was damn smart when it came down to it. His feelings of being the luckiest person in the world only deepened.

He took a couple of the books, and went up to the roof terrace to read them, out in the sunshine.

. . . . .

Will’s day alone was not as bright. He’d picked up the files that Jack had left for him, and was comparing them to things he’d gotten before. He’d already found several discrepancies in his own statements. It wasn’t too surprising, given that he’d made many of them directly after regaining consciousness in the hospital, and some of them more recently when he’d fully recovered; it was just that now, he’d almost certainly be asked to reconcile the differences by whoever was unlucky enough to be Lecter’s absentia defense attorney. _What a thankless task that’s gonna be, he thought_. _A potential career ender._ The person was likely to be in a constantly foul mood, and looking for any tiny crack they could pry open.

He took the files outside and sat on his porch while the dogs ran around. He wished that he was back with Frederick. They’d managed to create such a cone of safety against all of this, even if Mason Verger and Hannibal himself did manage to intrude upon it occasionally.

Most relevant in the statements was the question of why he’d called Hannibal before everything went down, on that last terrible night. His original statement was a muddled mess about not wanting any one to get hurt, implying Hannibal as well as everyone else. His second statement was that he wanted to get Hannibal out before Jack came to confront him, a much less emotional and confused response. The lawyer for the defense was sure to try to get him to talk about his relationship, his feelings for Hannibal. Not something he wanted to discuss, especially with Frederick present.

After two hours he gave up. Reading these was making him angry, and causing him to catastrophize everything, from the possibility that Hannibal would be exonerated (despite heaps of rather horrific evidence found in his basement and kitchen), to hurting Chilton. He wondered if he was feeling up to finishing chopping up the last of the stump of the lightning-exploded tree that he’d had taken out while he’d been gone over the weekend. At least that reminded him of more pleasant, recent times.

. . . . .

It was expected that the trial would last about a week. There were eleven witnesses for the prosecution to be called, including Will, Jack, Frederick, Kade Prurnell, Margot Verger, Mason (by video), Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller, Miriam Lass, and two independent criminal psychology experts; and only one witness for the defense, a psychologist that was an expert in insanity defenses. It was not disclosed beforehand that this is what the defense would do, and Will felt instantly better at hearing this; it essentially meant that he’d be convicted no matter what. It also meant that minor discrepancies, the ones he’d been stressing himself out over the day before, were unlikely to be used. The defense had essentially given up on the idea that Hannibal Lecter was innocent of the crimes he was accused of, but not guilty by reason of insanity.

When he had arrived, he went straight to Chilton, who looked like he was trying with all of his strength of mind to remain composed. He was tapping incessantly on the arm of the chair Will had found him sitting in, staring off into the distance. He didn’t even notice Will approach.

“Frederick. Are you OK?”

He sighed, as if a weight had been lifted. “I am now. I had this terrible paranoia that you wouldn’t show up for some irrational reason, and I would have to be here alone.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I know. I said it was irrational.” He said it a little more harshly than he intended. Will tried not to look hurt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just...I want this to be over, so much.”

“We all do.”

“Of course. I can’t feel sorry for myself, when everyone suffered at least as much as I did.”

“You’re working through a longer timeline of trauma about it than nearly anyone else, though. Other than Miriam Lass, you had the most amount of time to have to deal with the consequences of his behavior.”

Frederick raised an eyebrow at this.

“He was hurting you the whole time you were acquainted, you just weren’t aware of it.”

Will sat down heavily next to him, and covered his nervous hand.

“There’s no use trying to figure out who got hurt worse.”

Just then, Jack came in. He looked gray, and as if he’d aged ten years in the last six months.

“I think this is going to be hardest for him,” Frederick observed.

Fortunately, the prosecution called Jack to the stand first, to describe how Hannibal had come to be wrapped up in the investigations. After his testimony, he was permitted to leave, with the defense declining to cross examine him. He’d have to come back when they got to the part about how Hannibal had killed or nearly killed several of the involved parties at the end.

Will was called second, and had the most extensive testimony to go through; it took the entire rest of the day, and the defense had to wait until the next to ask him questions. He was dreading that, most of all, because surely they would bring up the nature of their relationship.

As two people that were still living had been accused of and imprisoned for being the Chesapeake Ripper other than Dr. Lecter, the prosecution had to do a good job of showing that Hannibal had manipulated the situation to throw suspicion off of him, even if temporarily. This would ultimately work against an insanity defense, showing that he knew what he was doing was illegal, and actively trying to hide it.

After Will had been asked to describe the entirely of their relationship, neither Will nor Frederick feeling like eating dinner after the day was done, as they had previously planned. Instead, they went and sat in Frederick’s car for a while, escaping before anyone had a chance to talk to them.

Will looked exhausted, as if telling the whole experience from beginning to end had been like reliving it all over again in the span of a few hours. He rubbed his eyes, and exhaled slowly.

“Will, there’s something other than the questions that’s troubling you.”

“You shouldn’t have to be here tomorrow.”

“I don’t really have a choice. If they call me and I’m not here, I’ll be in contempt. I will likely be called right after they’re done with you.”

“They’re going to ask about him and me.”

“I know. And also, I know. About you. I mean, I don’t know all the details, but it’s not important if I know them or I don’t. You were together. He lied to you. Set you up, same as he did me. He just utilized my lack of ethics and selfishness against me. He used your loneliness against you. All of those facets of our personalities are on the decline. We’re different people now. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Will nodded. He really hoped this would be as easy on Frederick as he was making it out to be, but also could see he was putting on a brave face. Which was not the easiest thing to do, so Will appreciated it even more. He pressed a warm kiss to his cheek.

“What was that for?”

“Just for being here. I don’t show it, but this is very hard for me too. I’m not traumatized in the same way you are. I’m more angry.”

“Our parts in this will be over by the end of the week. Then it’s the jury’s problem.”

Will shifted in his seat, troubled.

“It’s also….what if Mason was right? What if this doesn’t work out like everyone thinks it will?

Frederick opened and closed his mouth a few times before speaking, not knowing what to say. He loosened his tie.

“I don’t see how it couldn’t? There are only two real possibilities: either he’s found not guilty by reason of insanity, or found guilty. Isn’t that it?”

Will didn’t want to sound melodramatic, so he didn’t answer. In his mind, there was no telling what could go wrong.

. . . . .

The next day, the defense called Will first, as expected. He walked up to the witness stand, blood pounding in his ears. Feeling the eyes of the jury and everyone else in the room boring into him like a dentist’s drill into a tooth. He was uncomfortably reminded of the many bouts of vertigo and nausea from when his encephalitis was at its worst. He feared he might vomit right then and there.

He sat down slowly, and made eye contact with Frederick. He felt a little better physically, and even though he knew that this wouldn’t be pleasant for either of them, was nevertheless glad to see him sitting there, wearing a wan smile. The fact that he was trying was enough for Will to weakly smile back.

The defense attorney was tall, with dark features. His expression was grim. This was not the case of his dreams, despite the notoriety it would bring. When he spoke, Will noticed he had a slight accent, indicative of coming from Haiti or the Dominican Republic. It was interesting, uncommon to hear in this part of the country; Will tried to focus more on the pleasant cadence of his voice, rather than what it was asking.

It was difficult, later on, to recollect exactly everything that was asked of him. But he could remember some of the questions, and his voice sounding like it was someone else answering them.

“When did your sexual relationship begin?”

“A few weeks after I met Dr. Lecter.”

“Did you consider his actions ethical, given the fact that he was meant to be helping you deal with your work, in an official capacity?”

“I was never actually his patient, officially. I didn’t consider the ethics of the situation.”

“Why did you conceal your relationship from your colleagues?”

“I didn’t actively try to conceal it, I just didn’t talk about it.”

To Will, it seemed as if the defense was trying to make out that Hannibal was acting erratically, and had never engaged in something like that with a patient before, showing a change in his mental status. But it only had the effect of making Will visibly uncomfortable, and appeared increasingly irrelevant; so much so, that the judge put a stop to it after the prosecution objected.

Increasingly lurid questions, like whether or not they’d been with each other sexually while Will was incarcerated, met with instantaneous objections. Still, Will winced at this; they hadn’t engaged in any activity when he was under Chilton’s “care,” but they’d had a few conversations. Ones that Frederick had not needed to be reminded of.

It ended a lot faster than Will expected, given that it took at least three hours. The defense finished, and it was decided that after the lunch break, Dr. Frederick Chilton would be called next by the prosecution.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure if I'm getting all the legal bits right. I'm a Doctor, not a Lawyer...


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial concludes, and Frederick begins to think about his relationship with Will in more specific terms.

Will was impressed with Frederick's overall composure. He had the strangest reminder of the last time he'd seen Chilton on the witness stand; testifying that Will was the Chesapeake Ripper. But it was like he was watching someone who looked like Frederick, perhaps a close relative. He was reminded of him, yet he wouldn't have said it was the same man at all.

The man who'd testified against him months before was cocky, smug, self-serving. This new man was serious, almost grave. Will thought the facial scar might have had something to do with this impression, but it was more than that. Where the prior man had almost been playing a game, this new one had internalized the importance of every word he said. He spoke slowly, choosing each word carefully and deliberately. Words did not trip gaily from his tongue, as before. There were no sideways glances; in fact, Frederick looked only at the lawyer addressing him, or the jury. Will thought he wanted to look over to him, but was holding back, with all the resolve he possessed.

It made Will bite his lip to keep from making quiet noises of sympathetic pain to watch it. Frederick looked taxed to his mental limit.

The prosecutor's questions were all fairly straightforward; a simple accounting of how Frederick had come to be acquainted with Lecter, how had Will come to be in the Baltimore State Hospital, and how he'd come to be framed and injured by Miriam Lass.

However, when the defense lawyer questioned him, the line of inquiry was not as simple or polite. He seemed bent on using some of Chilton's experiences in the matter to embarrass the FBI. It was unlikely that he'd win, so making it look like he as a crafty cross examiner was his only recourse to salvaging anything from this.

Will was just glad that the court had excused Jack Crawford before he had to hear the ridiculous line of questioning. He'd been raked over the coals by Prurnell, and was, Will knew, already second guessing everything he'd thought or did since the whole sorry mess began.

“Tell us, Dr. Chilton. What was the impact on your diet after you were attacked by Abel Gideon?”

“I will more or less be unable to digest animal proteins for the rest of my life.”

“I see. Why, then, was Jack Crawford accusing you of being the Chesapeake Ripper who, as was suspected and said to be in this trial, a person who consumed human flesh?”

“Well, if I had been the Ripper, I would have been so before the attack, and thus, would have been able to eat said flesh in the past. Further, Hannibal fed Gideon's own leg to him, and may or may not have consumed any himself. I admit that Jack Crawford disliked me and was overzealous in his leaps of deduction, but I fit at least part of the profile.”

“And how do we know he wasn't right all along?”

Will snorted in surprised laughter, and the judge actually banged the gavel, reminding those present in the court to be composed or they would have to leave.

But Frederick answered the incredibly stupid question as politely as he could.

“Two reasons, really. I did not kill or attempt to kill Abigail Hobbs, Alana Bloom, Jack Crawford, or Will Graham; and my basement did not contain freezers full of said human flesh.”

The lawyer ceased his questions at that point, and Will was glad to see Frederick finally looking at him. He smiled with immense, genuine pride.

. . . . .

Frederick’s questioning was over much faster than anyone expected it would be. The only person they could talk to was Mason Verger, since he was going to appear via a closed circuit set-up that had already been put in place.

Mason continued to stick with the story that Hannibal had nothing to do with his disfigurement and injury; Will had previously filled Frederick in everything that really had happened, but it was still tremendously strange to watch him sit there and describe how the pigs had done _that_ to him.

Finally, it was over. They managed to get out of the courtroom and avoid talking to anyone.

“Are you sure you won’t change your mind? I’m sure the cat won’t mind an unplanned night alone.”

Frederick cracked the first smile he had all day.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t. But yes, it’s OK. I’ll be better off spending a couple of days alone. We both have to be back here on Friday for the last day, if they have any concluding questions for us.”

“You don’t need me to say this, I’m sure, but you’ve come a long way. You handled those questions beautifully. I’m not so sure that if it were me, I wouldn’t have been kicked out for decking that asshole.”

They were in a secluded area of the courthouse, past many of the rooms, and not near any that had been in use that day. A large marble column was conveniently nearby, and Frederick took Will by the wrist, and led him behind it. He kissed him, on the lips, but softly. Will pulled back after a moment, and caressed Frederick’s cheek. His eyes were dry, and red, but yet simultaneously seemed clearer and a brighter green than Will had seen them since before the trial had started.

“I’ll be fine. Really. I have some projects I can distract myself with for a few days. This weekend, however…” He kissed him with slightly more purpose this time, and Will felt his knees go a bit weak.

“What about this weekend?” he asked quietly, after Frederick had broken the rather luscious kiss.

“I’ll definitely find a way to leave the cat alone for a night. If that’s what you’re really concerned about.”

Will allowed himself a small laugh. He put his arms around Frederick’s neck, and drew him in for one last quick kiss.

. . . . .

Frederick hadn’t been lying when he said he had some things to do around his loft. He’d decided that re-organizing his books was necessary. Thinking about all the possibilities that Will had mentioned regarding teaching courses, he began to think of what materials he’d put into a course about abnormal psych.

That, and pulling all the PTSD journals and books into once easily reachable place.

Sigmund hopped onto every shelf as it was emptied, only to be moved grumpily by Frederick when he needed to fill it again. He got the distinct impression the cat was playing some sort of game with him to distract him a little.

“Clever thing, you are,” he said to him. Sigmund tilted his head and meowed a quiet agreement.

The following two nights, he felt particularly lonely. He knew that he and Will weren’t planning on moving in together – at least, that was a possibility that had not been discussed – but this week was hard to be alone, even though he’d chosen to be. He realized that the loneliness he felt now was different, though; it had the potential to be alleviated.

His former life, alone, had been not merely lonely, but empty. He’d thought it was filled with career advancement, recognition, all of that. But it was like eating empty calories; satisfying for a moment, but not actually nourishing. Will’s presence in his life was truly feeding him, in the real sense that he had helped him grow.

Missing him was part of that. Phrases he’d once thought were meaningless, like “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” now seemed more than just empty platitudes.

Another thought entered into his mind, one that had been creeping in at the edges. One he wanted to push away, because of how vulnerable and terrified it made him feel. Something he ought to tell Will, but in the saying, made it irrevocable. At least, for him it would. Did Will feel the same? Frederick thought he must. Then why had they not said the words they surely both felt?

. . . . .

Will’s time before the final court day was spent similarly to Frederick’s; he thought he should start putting together some of the teaching materials he’d be using for the additional courses he’d told Jack he would take on. Although they wouldn’t start for another two months, there was a lot of prep work to do.

It had been agreed without much said about it that Will wouldn’t go in the field anymore, and that Jack was likely to start finding and training his own replacement. He’d stay in the FBI, but in a more administrative, rather than investigative, role. It wasn’t technically the end of his career, but it was in practice. Hannibal had ended any such further aspirations for both himself and Jack. Will found himself strangely sad about this, as if he’d lost a limb. If he thought about it honestly, it was more like he was finally in recovery for an addiction. Just as the alcoholic would be grateful for a life free of hangovers, there would still be a certain nostalgia for spending the day on the couch, popping pills to cure the headache. He wondered if Jack felt the same.

He found himself unable to sleep. But it wasn’t the upcoming semester, or even the trial that kept him awake; it was Frederick. Will was tremendously worried about him. He had to fight the urge to just jump in his car and drive over to see him unannounced. But there was something in allowing him the space to deal with things on his own. Will felt his anguish more acutely than most people would be able to, even within a close relationship like theirs had become. It wasn’t wise to try to fix him, or force more support than was requested. And besides, Will thought – this new version of Frederick Chilton would be capable of fixing himself, or getting help to do so.

He knew he’d helped him already; there was little communication back and forth between them in those couple of days, but he’d texted Will that he was delving into preparing course materials as well. If there was one, solid practical thing Will could do for him, it was to get him started on a new line of work.

_If nothing else, I’ve done that for him_ , Will mused.

But he’d done so much more for Frederick, and Will knew it. For a man so evidently starved for affection, for so long, he had done a fantastic job not being too needy. He’d sort of…kept his distance? Given Will time to miss him? _That’s an interesting thought_.

Will of course had no specific idea that was exactly what he was doing, but he sensed it. And it had worked, beautifully. He wished Frederick were with him, in his bed. He vowed to get him there, as soon as this was over. To tell him how much he missed him, in between covering his mouth and neck with kisses. In all the vast capacity of his imagination, Will had rarely envisioned future encounters with lovers. He thought now that it was because it would produce too much longing, if those encounters were to go unfulfilled.

There was an indescribable joy in knowing he could imagine something like that, with Frederick, and that it would almost certainly come true.

This managed to get him to stop worrying, and fall into a deep sleep, with nothing but the most pleasant of dreams.

. . . . .

The final day of the trial at last arrived. The only people to be called back up to the stand was Jack Crawford, for a few points of clarity about how he followed up (or failed to follow up) on what Will and Hannibal were discussing in their appointments; and the expert witnesses on serial killers, none of whom were really able to shed any light on why Hannibal Lecter had done what he had, though they were full of plenty of contradictory theories.

The closing arguments were delivered after lunch, and, at long last, the jury was given the case after 4 PM. No one knew how long the deliberation would go, and they were sequestered for the duration. They’d been asked to deliberate over the weekend, and looked fittingly unhappy about the prospect. Will surmised that this was asked of them because the case was expected to be decided rather quickly.

Frederick and Will ran into Jack as they were all leaving.

“Jack, do you have a minute?” Will asked. “It’s about next year’s teaching.”

“Yes, but just a moment. I have to get back...You’re not backing out on me, are you?”

“No, of course not. I just wanted to give you at least a little good news. That I think I’ve solved the mystery of who might teach Abnormal Psych.”

Chilton was standing there, trying not to say the wrong thing.

“Dr. Chilton? You’d be willing to do that? I hadn’t heard if you’d taken any new employment…”

“Yes, Jack. I would. I think it’s absolutely the least I could do.”

“Nonsense. I’m the one that owes you.”

“I think we should just call everything even and try to start over,” Will interjected.

Jack extended his hand.

“You’re right Will, it is finally a bit of good news. One less thing I’ll have to worry about. I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, Will can get you up to speed on procedures.”

They shook hands, and he left. Frederick had been holding his breath almost the whole time.

“I suppose that went well,” he said.

Will smiled, and took him by the arm.

“Come on. I assume you’re following me home?”

“I wouldn’t be stopped.”

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

Will tried to put the week prior out of his mind. There was no telling how long the jury would deliberate, and he wanted the weekend that he and Frederick were going to spend together to be as much like the last one as possible. He had a few surprises for him that would hopefully serve as welcome distractions.

. . . . .

When he got to Will’s house, Frederick was practically vibrating with happiness and anticipation. The week had been like ripping off a band aid – something that needed to be done, to be gotten over with as quickly as possible. But painful nonetheless. The drive from the courthouse to Wolf Trap was just what he needed. As the landscape changed, so did his mood, and he felt like he was leaving a great weight behind him. It was over, and he could leave that part of his life in the receding distance.

At last, he arrived, and pulled up his car behind Will’s that had arrived just before his. He got out, and took a step towards the house, when he turned back, and discarded his suit jacket and tie in the car, opening a few of the top buttons of his shirt. He smiled when he briefly, but seriously, considered discarding the suit trousers in the car as well.  That would have to wait; but he wanted to rid himself as much as possible of the clothing he had had needed to wear the whole, exhausting week.

Will was waiting for him outside of the house, with a curious expression.

“I want to show you something,” he said. “Let’s go to the back of the house.”

Frederick tilted his head questioningly, and followed, around to where the tree that had been struck by lightning once stood. What he saw there delighted him. Will had turned the empty hole into a firepit and ringed it with a bench he made from the remaining wood. It was the place where he had started to really change his mind about Frederick, and he wanted to commemorate it somehow.

“It’s gone!”

“Yes, I had the stump removed, and put that in its place. I made the bench, too. I wanted somewhere for us. Nothing tinged with any stain of the past.”

Not knowing what to say, Frederick stood in flustered silence for a number of moments. Then he took Will’s hand, and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss.

After it ended, it was Will’s turn to be at a loss for words. He steered Frederick towards the bench, who seemed so happy he might burst.

“No one’s ever…wanted to remember me, or anything having to do with me, like this. I really have no idea...”

Will kissed him again, quickly.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just sit with me here.”

Will rested his head on Frederick’s shoulder. They sat quietly contemplating their new, shared reality.

“Will…?” Frederick asked after a few minutes. “Can we have a fire here tonight? I don’t think it’ll be too warm.”

“Of course we can. I’ve been visualizing that all week, instead of listening to the testimony. Really the only thing that kept me from screaming.”

“I wish I had your ability to do that.”

“Sometimes it’s good. But usually, it just plagues me. When I was…you know…in the hospital, I used to spend hours imagining I was fishing instead of locked away. Oddly, often when you were talking to me.”

In the recent past, Frederick would’ve felt vicious pangs of guilt at Will recounting the time he had him in the Baltimore State Hospital. But strangely to him, he felt more amusement than sadness.

“So that’s what you were doing instead of listening to me be an idiot. I’m glad.”

Will raised his head, and laughed softly. His eyes met Frederick’s; he was still genuinely amazed at how much he’d changed. The Chilton he’d known in what now seemed like a past life wouldn’t be able to casually call himself an idiot, even if he _had_ been being one. He slid a hand around the back of his neck, and kissed his way from his jawline to his mouth.

Soft at first, the kiss deepened and became more insistent by degrees, as Will’s tongue made it past Frederick’s open lips. Will felt him sigh against his mouth, only spurring him further.

Soon, hands were finding their way under shirts and at their buttons; the sun was just beginning to drop to the horizon; it was still warm, and they were quite secluded. Will felt perfectly secure in shrugging his off of his shoulders, allowing Frederick’s hands to roam freely over his chest.

“Should we…out here?” Frederick asked after finally deciding he needed to breathe.

“It is tempting, but I would think the mosquitoes might enjoy it more than we would.”

“Well then, we need to go inside. Now.”

Will idly allowed his hand to drift down Frederick’s body, past his open shirt, and to the prominent area of his suit trousers, now quite wrinkled, that was evidently the source of his urgency.

Teasing him for a while, until he was panting, nearly breathless, eyes half lidded, Will finally decided to show him some mercy. Frederick did not waste a moment following him into the house, and to one of the back bedrooms upstairs where they wouldn’t be disturbed by the dogs.

As soon as the door closed, his hands were all over Will, shaking as he unbuttoned his pants, letting them fall in a heap on the floor. Frederick sat on the edge of the bed, and held Will close, by the back of his thighs, mouth grazing the still-clothed erection that he wanted to taste so desperately.

Will slipped his boxers off, and let him.

Frederick was going very gently and slowly, and Will’s hand roamed through his hair. Everything that had happened that week seemed to melt away. He forgot why he was even wearing such confining suit trousers; reluctantly he stopped sucking Will, and moved back on the bed to wriggle out of them.

Will joined him, covering his body with his own, and kissing him deeply. Frederick wrapped his legs around Will’s waist, wishing he could just penetrate him then and there, without having to stop and get anything to use as lubricant.

Of course, Will knew what he was thinking, based on his increasingly frantic breaths and movements; he wished the same, but broke away nevertheless to get some from the bedside table. As soon as Will managed to retrieve it, he was opening and preparing Frederick; moaning and writhing beneath him, their desperation was shared as he entered him slowly.

Frederick felt like he never wanted to let Will go, never wanted this to end. Will, for his part, tried to take his time, but found it increasingly difficult to hold back. He thrust faster than he intended to, his body more in control than his mind. It felt glorious to let go like this, and Frederick was reveling in his abandon.

“Please, Will, harder, I need you,” he breathed into his ear, and Will was only encouraged by his words.

He did manage to slow down briefly, not wanting it to be over too soon. Will leaned back slightly, permitting Frederick to slip a hand between their bodies. He stroked himself, in time with Will’s  movements; just as Frederick started to feel like he was falling over the edge of pleasure, Will’s thrusts became irregular. They fell over that edge together, mouths seeking that of the other, and muffling each other’s cries.  

When it was over, Will lay atop the panting body below him; he buried his head in the crook of Frederick’s neck, feeling the waves of both comfort and relief than emanated from his entire self. They both had needed this, as much as nourishment or air.

Although it was still early, sleep came for both of them, at least for a couple of hours. When at last he stirred, Frederick found Will beginning to wake beside him. He watched him go into consciousness, saw his eyes open, and focus on him.

“Hi,” he said simply.

Will smiled back at him, and stretched.

“We should eat something. Go make that fire you suggested.”

Frederick stretched and yawned as well, in that kind of singular, sympathetic reaction one achieves with a deep, satisfying closeness.

“That sounds like a lovely idea.”

. . . . .

After a quiet evening cooking, and resting by the fire, the next morning was unhurried. Will went to make breakfast while Frederick showered. When he got out, a towel wrapped around his waist, Will was waiting for him with a cup of coffee. He briefly wondered if it would be like this if they shared every morning together; getting dressed, driving out to teach their respective courses, if they happened to fall on the same day.

It was a pleasant thought, but one Frederick had to remind himself was premature at this stage of their relationship. For now, he decided to just enjoy the moment.

After they ate, Will suggested a long walk with the dogs, and Frederick thought that was a perfect suggestion. Another chance to experience that domesticity he’d been growing so fond of.

Once out and walking, Frederick was impressed that the pack could go without a leash; the larger ones, running and chasing each other farther afield, the smaller ones puffing along closer to them.

“You do this often?” he asked.

“Yes. It was the thing I missed the most when I was away from them. I find that I don’t think too much in this activity.”

“You don’t worry they’ll go too far?”

“They always come back when I call. I do get concerned it will be an issue if one of them starts to get old enough to lose hearing.”

They walked in silence for a long while. Frederick agreed; watching the dogs, how they ran and padded along, was meditative. Soon, they came to the end of the flat prairie land that surrounded Will’s property, and neared the woods. As the dogs darted in and out of the trees at the edge, Will went over to a log, and sat, patting the place beside him for Frederick to join.

“So….,” he began. “What are we not thinking about? The trial?”

“Probably,” Will replied. “I’m trying not to think about the outcome. Or how long it will take to get there. Or even what good it will do.”

“I’ve been not thinking about that as well.”

Will snorted with derisive laughter.

“Look, when we get back, we’ll cook something together. I think that’ll take our minds off of everything.”

“I know some other things that will take our minds off of the problems of our little world,” Frederick said as seductively as he could manage without sounding too silly. He wasn’t sure if he pulled it off at first. But then Will turned to him, and put an arm around his waist. _Playing along, at least_ , he thought.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes…I’m not sure if it’s really the most appropriate things to discuss right now, so I’ll save it for dinner conversation.”

“Fair enough,” Will said, looking a touch disappointed. But Frederick was right; they needed time to get in the proper frame of mind to discuss intimate matters, and the walk back would help with clearing their heads even more.

. . . . .

Back at Will’s house, they fell into an easy rhythm of Will feeding the dogs, Frederick getting ready to cook dinner for them. There were some touches and near-collisions in the small kitchen, but they were accompanied by smiles and stolen glances. Will was really wondering what Frederick wanted to talk to him about, and could sense his happy nervousness.

A cheeseless, layered-vegetable lasagna was prepared with care; rustic tomato sauce, and freshly baked bread made the kitchen smell divine.

Both of them were thinking the same thing, which was, _I could get used to this._

After everything was prepared, Frederick sat down while Will poured them some wine; other than the sounds of eating, things were quiet.

Will finally had to break the silence and asked: “So, what exactly did you have in mind earlier when you wouldn’t tell me what you were thinking about?”

He observed Frederick blushing, and having difficulty expressing himself in words.

“I’ve been…extremely curious…about what it might feel like to…um...”

Will wanted to let him off the hook, since he had a strong feeling he knew exactly what he was talking about, but was enjoying him act like this _far_ too much. So he tilted his head, and tried not to smile.

“I really like being close to you Will,” Frederick said darkly, after clearing his throat. “I want to experience new forms of...closeness?” _God that sounded stupid._ He felt like he should get to the point, but couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Is this something you’d like to experience _tonight_ , Frederick?” Will inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“I very much would, yes.”

“I think that could be arranged,” Will said as nonchalantly as possible. He felt his jeans becoming rather confining at the thought, especially since he could read Frederick’s desire so obviously. The fact that he wanted him like that….reading another’s desire always amplified his own, but this seemed more intense than usual.

Will took another long sip of wine from his glass. He put it down, and said, simply: “Frederick, take me to bed.”

The invitation was both surprising, and yet expected; Frederick rose, and took Will by the arm, leading him to the bedroom they had shared the night before.

He had wanted this to be unique; Will had his way of seducing him, and he wanted to develop his own.

Once they’d reached the bedroom, and closed the door behind them, Frederick stood behind Will; he was slightly shorter, but broader, and when he reached his arms around to unbutton Will’s shirt and jeans, it felt comfortable, and oddly familiar. He discarded the shirt, and then removed his own; pressing into the lean muscles of Will’s back, and kissing his shoulders, and his neck…it was as if he’d been doing it for years.

Will made small sounds, leaning into each little contact. His pants fell, and he stepped out of them. Frederick guided him forward, onto the bed, still kissing him all the while. Reading his movements, Will tucked his knees under his body, and put his arms out and above his head.

The bottle of slick lubricant was still within reach from the day before. Frederick sat back, and watched the movements of his own hand and fingers as if they belonged to someone else; he could scarcely believe the evidence of his eyes, that he was really _doing_ this. How Will’s body responded as he pressed a finger, and then two, inside of him; carefully drawing them in and out, and hearing each sound and half-pronounced syllable as it was breathed out by the man beneath him. He was met with heat, and yielding tightness.

His cock was aching from it all. He stroked and slickened himself, and leaned over Will’s body; one arm under his shoulders, face buried in his neck.

“Is this OK?”

“Yes, Frederick, please…”

Entering him slowly, Frederick was in greater disbelief. Will’s body, his movements…that he would share these things with him…it was the closest thing to a religious experience he could ever imagine. He stayed inside of him, allowed him to adjust to the sensation of being filled so completely. But he couldn’t remain that way for a moment longer, and began to thrust; shallowly at first, then deeper and harder.

Will’s hand was working the length of his cock. He wanted to allow Frederick to experience the feeling of fucking him while he reached orgasm, and stroked himself in time with Frederick’s increasingly erratic movements.

Will gave him the experience he wished to, cumming hard and fast, as Frederick thrust into him ever harder; his mind was focused on nothing but the feeling of Will, pulsing around his hardness. It seemed to last forever, and yet be over far too quickly.

He stayed that way, holding Will close to him, kissing his neck.

At last, he spoke: “I just…that was beyond anything I ever could have imagined. Does it feel that way for you? Like there’s nothing else in the world?”

He turned, and Will managed shift his body to face him.

“It does with you,” he said, and tucked his head against Frederick’s chest.

. . . . .

After a long, delightful shower together, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. But Frederick knew he’d return soon. Parting was getting easier, knowing that it wouldn’t ever be for long. He hadn’t wanted to leave the next day.

The next several days went by slowly. Although they had anticipated hearing a faster verdict from the jury, it was almost a week – Thursday, in fact – and they were still deliberating. Frederick and Will planned on another weekend together, and both busied themselves preparing their courses to teach.

Driving into the parking garage after coming home that afternoon, Frederick was lost in contemplation about the days ahead. The likelihood that the jury would return a guilty verdict; the hope that Lecter would find out, and it would keep him from returning to the country; and a potential long-term future for Will and himself. He got out of the car, smiling nervously at all of these things. They were, of course, uncertain; but all of life was, he supposed. The trajectory was at least now more potentially positive than it had ever been.

As soon as he rounded the corner to his mailroom, his heart, which had been singing with lightness, dropped like a stone. There was another package, with hand-delivery marks on it. They were different from the last one. He suspected Hannibal would of course switch to a different carrier each time.

_Each time._

_When would this ever end?_

Hands shaking, he opened the large envelope; it was stiff, unbendable.

Inside it were pictures. Taken from a distance with a telephoto lens. They were of himself and Will, on the roof terrace, from the last time he’d been there. _Hannibal had sent someone to spy on them? While they were talking, eating, drinking, kissing?_ It seemed rather gauche for his methodology.

There was a letter, not hand written this time, but typed, accompanying the photos:

_If he can see you with a camera, he can see you with a scope._

Meaning, apparently, that Hannibal could have him or both of them killed, at any time?

Something about this did not add up. Frederick felt the fear vanish from his icy veins, and found it replaced with hot anger.  He would not let his emotional and psychological trauma prevent him from doing what he should have done the first time something like this had happened, which was to call Will immediately.

He took the package upstairs, and was greeted by Sigmund.

“Boy, do we have a mess on our hands,” he said to the cat, patting the top of his head.

Sigmund meowed determinedly. Frederick thought it was more likely to be from wanting food, than actually giving him moral support, but he appreciated it all the same.

After feeding the cat, he called Will, whose response to the situation was a welcome, and robust:

“I will be right over.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me so incredibly long to write! Only 3 more chapters to go, hopefully my productivity will improve. Thanks for keeping with this story!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Frederick seek to discover the origin of the ominous photographs; a decision is made.

Trying, and usually failing, to not go too much over the speed limit, Will drove out to Baltimore. Every thought in his mind kept returning to the strangeness of the package that Frederick had described. There was nothing about it that reminded him of anything that Hannibal would do, which meant that there was a much larger problem that was looming.

There was also the fact that the jury had been out for almost a week and he’d heard nothing. The previous day, he’d called the prosecution attorney, who put off his questions with some very vague comments about juries being “hard to read,” etc. Will need not have been empathically sensitive to hear the concern and doubt in his voice.

Something, probably a lot of somethings, was very wrong.

Unlike the last time something like this had happened, Frederick let Will inside when he rang the bell right away. Getting up to his loft, though, Will was disheartened to see that the place was dark and Frederick was sitting very still on his couch. Sigmund was looking at him worriedly from a window perch.

“Frederick, are you all right?”

He didn’t look like he was a million miles away, but was slow to answer, with a heavy exhale of breath.

“Not really. But I’m not terrified, not like last time. I’m more just…confused. And sick of being confused. What the hell is this, Will?”

He pointed to the envelope on the table in front of him.

Will frowned at it, but picked it up all the same. He took out the note, the pictures.

“This isn’t from Hannibal.”

“How do you know?”

“Do you think it is?”

Annoyed that Will had answered his question with a question, Frederick still had to admit that Will was probably right. It did not seem like the kind of thing Hannibal would do, spying on them like that, or having someone else do it for him. He would consider it _rude_.

So he slowly shook his head, and asked. “Ok. So who is it then?”

As soon as he’d asked the question, Frederick knew the answer. Will watched as realization crept over his face.

“Mason Verger,” Frederick said flatly.

“Of course. He wants to keep me involved. And he’s evidently trying to do that by fucking with you.” Will’s tone grew increasingly tense with each word.

“You’re very angry about that, aren’t you?” Frederick, for the first time since the package arrived, had looked at the situation from outside of his own head, and it surprised him a little that Will was as mad as he appeared.

Will sighed, as if he’d resigned himself to something. But he sat down next to Frederick, with a softer expression. Frederick put his head on Will’s shoulder, as much a gesture to comfort Will as himself.

“Of course I’m angry about it,” Will said after calming down enough to not sound like it anymore. “He has no right to drag you into this any more than you are already affected by it. He thinks he can do anything he wants, that he’s untouchable.”

“Unfortunately, it seems that he does have the upper hand in many matters.”

“We will just have to see about that. I suggest we pay him an unannounced visit. The both of us. Right now.”

. . . . .

Frederick was a little bit unnerved driving out to Muskrat Farm without an invitation; well, quite a lot _more_ than a little bit if he was being honest with himself. Mason Verger was unpredictable and paranoid. Will could read his emotions, rather than his personality disorders, which is what Frederick focused on. He had assured him that this was the only way to confront Mason on this, that if they waited or even called, he’d find some way to worm his way out of admitting what he’d done. And if Margot had been given the heads up, while she’d be in their corner, she had to have the deniability of truly knowing nothing, or Mason would use it against her.

When they arrived, the security guards were surprised to see them, but certainly didn’t consider them an overt thereat. They called to Mason’s room, and he told them to let the new arrivals in.

As it turned out, Margot wasn’t around that day anyway, so they wouldn’t have been able to rely on her assistance. Mason was there in his room, where he would almost always be, for the rest of his life. It was not a quiet place, although there was so little movement in it; but the sounds of the respirator were incessant. Frederick thought that the never ending hisses and clicks, and the soft beeps of the monitors, would drive him mad if he had to stay there for every long.

“Come in, come in,” he said, sounding almost gleeful through the sounds of the machines. Will had been right; this type of confrontation was not something Mason expected, and the unexpected delighted him, even if it wasn’t in his favor.

Will and Frederick stood on one side of his bed, while his Doctor, a man who had the demeanor of a weasel without necessarily resembling one, named Cordell, stood on the other. He was glancing nervously at his the monitor.

With his jacket folded neatly over his arm, Will took a half step towards Mason, who eyed him happily.

“I imagine you know why we’re here,” he stated as flatly as he could.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

Frederick could read Will in that moment; a mixture of anger and annoyance. Not wanting to play this game, but not having a choice. He wanted to assuage Frederick’s fears, and this was the only avenue open to him to do it.

“There was a package sent to Dr. Chilton’s home. I contained photographs of him and myself, on his roof terrace. There was also a note that seemed to imply that we could shot just as easily as photographed. The purpose of this was to make Dr. Chilton believe that Hannibal was responsible for sending this, as he had sent the previous note that I gave to you, to try and gather information on his whereabouts. I believe you are responsible for his.”

Mason smiled liplessly. Will could almost picture him opening his arms in a gesture of admission, though he could not move.

“I am afraid I am guilty as charged. But I would like to point out, in my defense, that even if it wasn't Hannibal it could well have been. There is no reason he would not progress from sending poetry to sending assassins.”

Frederick stepped forward. “Dr. Lecter would not send someone to kill either of us. He would want to do it himself. You have some kind of agenda here that neither of us plan on serving.”

Mason was silent for a few moments, thinking. He hadn’t been counting on being confronted so quickly. But he still wasn’t showing all of his cards.

“Yet here we are, talking. That is all I really wanted, to start a conversation,” he said in the most conciliatory tone he could muster.

“A conversation about what?” Will demanded, his rancor showing at last.

“A few things. You say that Dr. Lecter would prefer to kill you in person. What if he were able to do just that?”

“Mason, what do you mean? This is getting tiresome for both of us.” Will stepped a little closer to Frederick, a reassuring gesture. “He won’t be coming back when he’s found guilty. It would be like Osama bin Laden trying to get in the US. He’d be the most wanted person in the country. Even with a forged identity or plastic surgery, it would be suicidal.”

“You’re making a very big assumption there, Mr. Graham,” Mason said with a terrifying edge of glee creeping into his voice. “Don’t you find it strange that the jury has not yet returned?”

"What are you implying?" Frederick asked worriedly.

"Dr. Chilton, isn't it obvious? Only one juror need not agree to ruin the entire case. And then a retrial? Would either of you care to go through that again? Would Jack Crawford?"

The two of them looked at him in stunned silence. He would never admit to fixing the jury. And they would never trace the person working for him, and if they did, that person would disappear. And he would do it again.

"Mr. Graham, the only way to end this is to find Dr. Lecter and kill him. Or I will make sure that this will never end. And, so very funny, his little communique to you Dr. Chilton may be the key to catching him. I have been able to use it to track him to Italy. And I will make arrangements for you, Mr. Graham, to go there and find him before he can return here."

Will understood that to mean that as soon as Hannibal found out that the jury did not find him guilty, that he would return and try to kill Frederick. He wasn’t sure about that; what he _was_ sure about was that Mason wouldn’t stop pulling stunts like he had been, and that he wouldn’t give them a moment’s peace until Hannibal was dead.

Frederick was looking back and forth from Mason to Will. _Surely he won’t go along with his_ , he thought, alarmed. He felt panic rising from deep inside of him. Will, going to Italy to kill Hannibal. Or, more likely, to be killed by him. He tried to speak, but found no words would come from his suddenly parched throat.

Will stepped back from Mason, and put a hand on the small of Frederick’s back.

“I’m sure you understand that I will have to think about this,” he said as carefully as he could. He felt Frederick shaking, minute muscle spasms that threatened to make him fall. He realized they needed to leave.

“Of course,” Mason said dismissively. He would have waved a hand, if he could.

Once he was safely sitting in the passenger seat of his own car, Frederick realized he had no recollection of walking there, but he assumed he did. It was like his mind was generating blank spots, keeping his consciousness disengaged until he could once again cope with reality.

“Frederick? Are you there?” He heard Will’s voice coming to him as if through a tunnel. The last word seemed closer than the first.

“I don’t remember getting from Mason’s room to the car.”

“You were disassociating, I think. It’s happened to me many times. How are you now?”

“Aware, but terrified. You’re leaving,” he said flatly.

“We should get out of here and talk about this back at your place.”

Frederick nodded; he suddenly felt very tired. Thankfully, he nodded off not too long after they pulled out of the gates.

. . . . .

“We’re here. Frederick, wake up.”

Will had pulled into the garage at Frederick’s building, alongside his car which had been left there in the extra space. Sitting up, startled at how much time had passed (although it had only felt like a few minutes), Frederick rubbed his eyes vigorously, trying to bring himself back to consciousness as soon as he could.

The weight of the conversation he knew they must have hung heavy at his shoulders, feeling like it was going to pull him into the ground. He knew he had some kind of PTSD episode after they left Mason’s, and he was going to have to deal with the fact that Will was about to try to convince him that leaving for Italy was the right thing to do.

They went up the elevator in silence, and Frederick attended to feeding his cat before sitting down, with Will, at the table he’d placed himself at.

Will spoke as softly and rationally as he knew how.

“You know it will never end. Whether from Hannibal or Mason, unless _I_ end it, it won’t.”

“What if you die? What if he kills you, or you kill each other, in some grand final gesture.”

Will was stung by those words, but knew they were coming from a place of great pain.

“This isn’t some kind of desire to re-start my relationship with him, you know.”

“I know….but I can’t help but think that there’s some kind of desire to make it end in mutual destruction.”

“I’m sure that’s true for him, Frederick, but it isn’t true for me. And it might have been true for me if I hadn’t been with you. I want to live. I want both of us to live, and as long as he’s free, we won’t be able to.”

Will closed his eyes, briefly imagining their confrontation. Would Hannibal stab him again? He could picture it perfectly, just as clear as his memory of that last horrible day. But this time, instead of Hannibal’s house, the scenery changed. They were in a beautiful plaza, surrounded by strolling couples. Where his last gutting had been private, this one would be on display for the world to see, and would end in his death.

Will gasped, and when he finally opened his eyes, saw that Frederick had tears streaming silently down his face.

“I think I’d like to be alone now,” Frederick said in the smallest voice he’d ever heard come from his mouth.

Will tried to protest, but no words came. He could think of none. He wanted to promise that they’d have time before he left, and endless days when he returned. He wanted to say how he truly felt; but there was an undeniable air of finality about leaving. Even if he intended it to be otherwise.

He rose, and stood behind the man who had changed his life; but through no fault of either of theirs, in the final calculation, had perhaps not changed it enough.

“I will call you if I hear anything,” he said simply, and left.

Frederick had wanted to tell Will. To say the words he’d been meaning to, wanting to. Waiting for the right moment, he thought. Which now would never come, because the chances of Will returning to him, alive, were unfathomably small.

But still, he did not regret holding it back. If he had told him, _today_ , it would have come across as small and manipulative. Something the old Chilton would have done. Except he wouldn’t have ever had anyone to say it to. Because he never would have gotten far enough out of his own head to love another person.

The irony made him laugh out loud. And remember some phrase about loving something and setting it free that he never understood until now, which he always thought was meaningless.

“Well, fuck,” he said tearfully to a sleeping Sigmund, who only opened one eye.

. . . . .

Will’s mind was blank as he drove back home, his actions rote. Just as he walked into the house, no sooner had he dropped his keys on the kitchen counter when his phone’s message alert sounded. He knew who it would be, and what it would be, even before he took it out of his pocket.

_Jack Crawford:_

_The jury has hopelessly deadlocked. One juror was a hold out and would not be swayed._

_There will be no verdict._

_Call immediately._

Despite the fact that he was fully anticipating this, Will sank down, sliding his back along the floor, as the dogs crowded around him to see why he was sobbing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll perhaps be dismayed to know I was originally going to end the story here. I thought better of that.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sad event brings Frederick and Will back together. But is it the last time?

In the days following the hung jury announcement, one of the members of it vanished. It was fairly clear who Mason’s inside man was. Whether he received a new life in another country, or was fed to the pigs, was unlikely to ever be discovered.

Will suspected he had been promised the former, but had been delivered to the latter.

Still, it hardly mattered. Unless there was a massive corruption scandal unearthed in the Federal Court system, he’d probably be able to do it again. And Verger had certainly been right when he’d surmised that no one was particularly eager to start another trial all over again.

At least not anytime soon. Three days after the jury’s failure to deliver a verdict, Will got another call, this time from Jack’s assistant: Bella Crawford had, at last, succumbed to her cancer.

Because her illness had been so long, arrangements had been made well in advance, and the memorial service was scheduled for that Saturday. This was good, in a way; Will felt that it was fully necessary that he attend, and he was to leave for Italy the very following day. He was glad of that, at least. It would have made him feel terribly guilty if he’d not been able to be there for Jack, at least this once.

Although they hadn’t spoken since the last time they’d seen each other, Will knew he had to call Frederick and tell him. He’d never forgive him if he didn’t, for Will was certain he’d want to be there too. And it would push him to do what he’d been dreading, which is tell Frederick he was soon to leave.

“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you,” Frederick had said flatly when he’d answered the phone.

“I wouldn’t just leave and not tell you,” he said, feeling a bit hurt. “Besides, Frederick, that’s not really what I called about. It’s Bella Crawford. She’s passed away. The service is on Saturday, and I thought you would want to know. To go, I mean.”

“Yes. Thank you. I would probably have not heard otherwise. I do, and I will.”

“I also have to tell you…I am leaving. The next day, after the service. I just found out last night. I didn’t know how to tell you, but I promise, I was trying to find a way.”

There was a long sigh on the other end.

“I can’t say I’m surprised. And I believe you. What will you do with the dogs?”

“Jack already told the academy students they’d be responsible for them.”

“I’ll go check up every once and a while. To make sure everything is OK.”

Will wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to do that, but could sense that Frederick needed to; it was the only way to be still involved when there was so little he could control. So instead, he said “Thank you. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

During the time they’d been apart, Frederick had been doing a lot of thinking. No matter what, he’d still teach the courses he’d been offered, even if Will wasn’t there to see in the hallways, or go to lunch with, or go home with, or…

But there was a voice of hope inside of him, which said _maybe he’ll be back by then, and everything will be just as he’d said it would be._

There was another voice, a much stronger one, that said _he won’t be coming back, and you know it. One way or another, Hannibal will see to that._

He tried to put all that aside, as he went to his closet to see what would be appropriate to wear, that wasn’t too hot. It was forecast to be rather warm on Saturday.

. . . . .

Completely unbefitting the occasion – but completely appropriate for the person whom the memorial was being held – the weather was astonishingly beautiful on the day of Bella Crawford’s service. Completely blue sky, warm but not as hot as had been predicted, and a breeze carrying the scent of flowers.

Jack was planning on taking her ashes to Italy to scatter them, but had a private memorial as well. Will assumed it was more for her family and friends, than for Jack. He’d say goodbye in his own way, alone.

Besides a number of people Will didn’t know, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller, and Margot Verger were in attendance. He idly wondered how Jack would react to Margot, and how she had heard about the event. Neither were avenues of inquiry he wanted to pursue aloud.

Just as he was about to go into the back garden of the small chapel where people would be speaking, he saw Frederick approaching. His heart stabbed at seeing him; he wanted to touch him, hold his hand, any simple gesture. But of course, he could not. Not here, and not now. He could see the same feeling written in the lines of the other man’s face, and in the darkness under his eyes.

Will waited for everyone else to file in, and stayed behind to accompany Frederick. When he reached him, Will couldn’t help but brush his arm; a simple, light gesture, but one that was desperately necessary. Frederick seemed to relax a little from it, at least.

“We need to talk after this.”

“I know,” Frederick replied, fatalistically. “Will you come home with me? I’m sure it’s bad timing…”

“Actually, it isn’t. I’ve said my goodbyes to the dogs, and they’re being taken care of as we speak. I was hoping…” He trailed off. He wanted to say _hoping to stay the night with you_ , but it felt superfluous to express his wishes, when he knew that all Frederick wished was for him not to leave.

They went in, together. Frederick had a difficult time concentrating on the things that were being said. But Will guided him through introductions, and short, difficult conversations with people he knew only slightly.

Although Price and Zeller had been testifying at Hannibal’s trial at the same time he was, they had mostly avoided Frederick. Both of them had assumed he’d been guilty when they’d processed him, before he’d been shot by Miriam Lass, had been unwilling to give him the benefit of the doubt. The death of Beverly Katz had clouded their judgment, and understandably so.

But here, at the funeral, there was really no getting around the matter.

Jimmy Price was the first to walk up to Frederick, and offer his hand. He shook it, trying not to feel sick from nerves and bad memories, neither of which he held against the man, but neither of which he could help.

“Dr. Chilton. I am sincerely glad that Hannibal Lecter’s deception did not claim another victim.”

Frederick nodded, and smiled as best as he was able.

Will, noticing his discomfort, put his hand lightly on Frederick’s back and chimed in: “As am I. Have you heard that Dr. Chilton is going to be joining us in the fall? Teaching Abnormal Psychology.”

Brian Zeller stepped up, opened his mouth, and then closed it again, as if he suddenly remembered where he was. Will was sure something inappropriate was about to come out of it. Instead, he cleared his throat, and extended his hand as well, saying, “I’m sure you’ll make an excellent teacher.”

Frederick finally found his voice, and said only “Thanks,” as honestly as he could manage.

. . . . .

After the service was over, Will and Frederick knew it was time to go and speak to Jack.

He was standing looking out over the flowers. They approached him, and he turned to them, the most distant look in his eyes that Will had ever seen.

“She died at home, not in Italy. But after all of this, I am going there, to scatter her ashes near where we met. It’s the only thing I can do. This wasn’t for me, or even her. It was for everyone else who knew her.”

“You may have heard that I am on my way to Italy soon myself,” Will said.

“I have. I know I can’t stop you, so I won’t tell you not to go. Mason Verger is turning out to be worse than Dr. Lecter. I never would have thought that was possible, but here we are.”

He stopped looking off into the distance and turned to Frederick.

“Dr. Chilton, I hope this doesn’t change your mind about teaching this Fall.”

“No,” he replied, surprised that Jack would still be thinking of such practical matters; but he supposed it was a way to stay grounded in the realm of things he still had some control over. “I’m planning things out already.”

“Good,” Jack said, sounding far away. “I’ll have someone get in touch with you to finalize things. Take care of yourself, Will. I expect to see you back too.”

With that, he left, and both Will and Frederick hoped he was right.

On the way out, they saw Margot Verger. Dressed appropriately all in black, she had been watching the three men talking with an interested tilt of her head,

Will had observed her before this, sitting quietly by herself, as if absorbing the event somehow.

“Frederick, I’m going to have a word with Margot.”

“That’s fine,” he replied, distracted.

Will went over to her, and she stood. They walked to a quiet corner of the garden, away from everyone else.

“Why are you here, Margot?” Will asked gently.

“Mason said he thought it would be ‘politic.’ I’m sure he just wanted to remind you all that his presence is still to be felt in your lives. But I don’t mind, not really. Despite the sadness of the occasion, there is something about it that is so incredibly normal to me. It’s a normality that I will never reach. There were no loving memorial services for anyone in my family, and there never will be. Just ridiculously extravagant coffins and ugly stone edifices marking our name.”

“Mason can’t control your life forever, Margot,” Will said with as much comfort in his voice as he could manage. “And besides, there are better occasions to aspire to than a normal funeral.”

She smiled at this, recognizing that Will was attempting to make her feel better at a time when he was about to leave a life that had finally improved.

“I’ll see you again.”

“Will you?”

“Of course. As you said, Mason cannot exert his control indefinitely. If you truly believe that, you know you will return.”

“Fair enough,” Will said. “Until next time, then.”

Margot nodded, and took her leave.

Will went back over to Frederick, who was looking up at the sky. A flock of swallows had caught his attention. Will watched as Frederick’s eyes tracked them over the trees, until they were gone.

Taking his arm gently, Will asked, “Shall we go now?”

“Of course. I was just thinking about going away. With you. Change our names and just run. Would that even be possible? Would we just have to contend with Hannibal Lecter no matter where we went?”

“I’m afraid we would. Even if he didn’t find us, Mason would.”

Frederick sighed, resigned to this obvious truth. “I know. Yes. We should go.”

. . . . .

The drive back to Frederick’s loft was quiet and introspective. He thought the whole time about how it might be Will’s final trip there; how would he be able to stay there, with the memories of the foundation of their relationship practically echoing off the walls?

Will was wondering the same thing. Is this the last time I will ever come here? _Should I ask him about making sure the dogs get a good home if I never come back?_

His flight out was the next morning at 11 AM. That left them about 18 hours before they had to part. He suspected that it would be the shortest 18 hours of his life.

Pulling into the parking garage, Frederick couldn’t help noticing the air of fatalism that spread between them, creating a gulf that he’d not felt since they became close. He had to try to bridge the gap, somehow.

Once inside, he led them straight to the roof terrace, from the loft. Will was puzzled, but allowed it. Up there, in the sunshine, the world seemed just a little bit less grim. He noticed that Frederick had a little fridge installed, and there was a new canopy. It was getting comfortable and cozy up there.

“I love it up here. I love you being with me up here. I didn’t want the pictures that Mason had shot of us to take that away.”

“You’ve done so much, Frederick. Don’t let any of this take any of that away from you. No matter what happens.”

They sat, and Frederick took Will’s hand; he placed it on his chest.

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even be alive. I mean, my heart would be beating, but I’d be cold. I know you have to go. I hate it, and for a few minutes there, I hated you for leaving, I felt like you were hurting me on purpose. But that’s just the old me fighting to get out.”

Will opened his fingers, palm splayed over Frederick’s heart. “I hate that I have to _make_ you hurt. I’m sorry.”

His eyes were so open, and full of pain. In that moment, Frederick could never have turned from him. He leaned in, and kissed Will softly on his trembling lips.

“I forgive you. And in any case, it’s not your fault to forgive. Go and fix this, for us. So we can have a future.”

“If it is humanly possible, I will.”

“I know.”

They sat there together, holding each other in the warm shade, until lack of movement made them cramped. Frederick sat up, and retrieved what he’d left in the small refrigerator – a bottle of white wine, perfectly chilled for a day such as this one. He poured them each a glass.

“This isn’t goodbye.”

“No,” Will replied, and kissed him before drinking. It made him feel full of life, somehow. That he could remember this moment, drinking wine with Frederick out in the light of day. 

They sat out there until the sun began to go down; they watched it fade off of the horizon together. Neither was particularly hungry, but still they supposed they should eat something. 

Frederick had some cold chickpea salad for them; it wasn't much, but neither wanted to have anything elaborate. Will supposed if they did, it would be too like a last supper.

Although it was still early, just after 9 PM, there was an unspoken agreement that they should retire to bed. Although it would have been like heaven, and Frederick was aching to touch Will and be touched by him, sex seemed wrong somehow. Much like their meal together that evening, doing something extravagant would have been like a desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable.

Instead, they slept in each other’s arms, albeit fitfully. Will didn't recall his dreams, but when he woke early, he felt as if he'd been running all night. Sigmund was curled up next to him protectively.

“I'll see you again soon, buddy,” he said to the wise-looking cat. He blinked up at Will, and began to purr. Frederick stirred.

. . . . .

It took all the effort of personal strength not to cry while he drove to the airport, but Frederick was determined not to lay all his emotions on Will's shoulders, since he had enough to worry about. More than enough. Besides, he figured he could wait until he was alone and pull off at the nearest rest stop to get it out.

They started down the road, pulling onto the highway. But they only made it a few exits before Will's phone went off.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave this on such a cliffhanger. Last chapter soon.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call, and everything is changed.

“It’s Jack,” Will said, puzzled, after he looked at his phone. “I wouldn’t have expected him to call me so soon, after yesterday.” 

He answered it, opening his mouth to say ‘Hello,’ but he never got that far. 

Although he was driving, Frederick glanced over to Will’s face growing increasingly incredulous as he listened, making small noises as if to interrupt, but being unable to get a word in edgewise. 

Finally, Will interjected loudly, “Stop! Just tell me when!” 

After a few more moments, Frederick could no longer stand it, and said, “Will, what is going on!?” 

Will put his hand to the phone to block his voice, and said, “Pull in to that rest stop a mile ahead and I’ll tell you.” 

Frederick did as he was told, mind racing. It was a long mile.  _Did Mason find Hannibal? Is he dead? Oh god did he manage to get back into the country somehow, are we being taken into protective custody oh god what-_  

“I see,” said Will, after listening for a long time. “We’ll be there shortly.” 

With that, he ended the call, placing the phone in his lap, and staring straight ahead as Frederick tried not to get into an accident pulling off the highway. 

Once they’d come to a stop, he turned off the car. 

“I’m not trying to be strange or evasive about this, Frederick. I just don’t know how to start.” 

“Okay...why don’t you just tell me what Jack said?” 

“Hannibal has been caught. In Italy, well, as he was trying to leave. There was an investigator there, a man named Pazzi. This man was pursuing Hannibal, and Hannibal got to him first. Killed him, in quite a dramatic fashion it seems. Jack thinks there was some connection to Mason Verger, that Pazzi was on Verger’s payroll. But he’s been caught. They have him.” 

Frederick was utterly stunned. The implications of this penetrated through his mind like a hot knife through ice, and slowly his thoughts thawed enough to ask a very important question. 

“So…you don’t have to go then?” 

Will looked at him with confusion at first, and then began to laugh, almost hysterically. When Frederick began to look alarmed, Will leaned over and kissed him hard. He rested his forehead against Frederick’s and smiled. 

“No…no I suppose I don’t.”

“What do we do now?” 

“We get to the next exit and turn around. We have to go to Jack’s office. He’s on his way there now.” 

“So soon, after the funeral…” 

“Yes,” Will said, “I know, it’s almost more than he can take right now, even if this is good news. But there’s nothing else to do. Let’s get going.”

 

. . . . .

 

They were quickly ushered into Jack’s office when they arrived; although it was a Sunday, it appeared as if dozens of people had been called in, and a horde of FBI investigators were going through files. Jack looked both as if he hadn’t slept in many days, and about to start throwing punches at all the people that were getting in his way. 

He seemed a bit relieved when he saw Will and Frederick, and took them down the hall to the only empty place they could find, a conference room. Jack locked the door behind them, and he finally let out a long breath he’d been evidently holding in. Will fought every urge to press him immediately for details. 

“Both of you sit down. None of what I’m going to tell you leaves this room. You know everything I know at this point. I don’t have all the details. The Justice Department is in conference with the Italian authorities as we speak. The very first thing I asked them when I found out is whether or not they are going to try to extradite him to stand trial back here. Now, given what happened last time with Verger, I believe this would be a bad idea. They’re stonewalling me though. Complete information shut down. 

“They don’t know I’ve already booked a ticket to Italy. For Bella’s ashes. I’m leaving tonight. I’m going to tell the authorities when I get there the FBI wants me to talk to him. You tell no one of this.” 

They both looked at him like he was a little insane, but nodded. 

“Jack,” Will began carefully, “are you sure they’ll let you see him? What if the JD finds out you left and tells them not to let you in?” 

“I am going there right away. First thing. Hopefully they won’t have caught on by then.” 

“What do you hope to find out?” Frederick asked tentatively. 

“Anything I can, Dr. Chilton. Anything I can.”

 

. . . . .

 

Once back at Will’s house, they saw that there was a car there.

“One of Jack’s students. He probably neglected to let them know that I was coming back.” 

Sure enough, a young woman emerged from the house, surprised to see them. 

“Mr. Graham! Agent Crawford didn’t call me...” 

“He’s a little busy at the moment. I’m not leaving after all as it turns out. Can you let the other students he had lined up know?” 

“Certainly sir. Can I ask if we’ll be seeing you back at the academy this fall?” 

“Yes, and you will be. Thank you, for helping.” 

She nodded at the both of them and left. 

“I think her name is Ardelia..,” Will said distractedly. 

The dogs bounded out of the house to greet Will on the porch, then ran excitedly around the yard; they had missed him, and were clearly happy to get so much attention in one day. 

In time, he corralled them and they all settled down in the front room of his house. 

Just as the last of the dogs lay down with a satisfied grumble, Will took Frederick’s hand and led him to the quiet bedroom at the top of the stairs. No sooner had he closed the door behind them, that Will’s hands were on him, untucking his shirt, and running fingers up the smooth skin of his back. Frederick spun him around to the wall, and the buttons of Will’s shirt flew in all directions. 

Frederick kissed him, harder than he would have thought himself capable of. Will returned the ferocity of it, and very quickly, if not with finesse, clothing was removed. Will found his arms pinned by the wrists to the wall, but he fought through it, and tipped Frederick backwards onto the nearby bed. It was his turn to be immobilized. 

In between breathless kisses, and struggles with belt bucked and zippers, Will managed to get out a few half pronounced words. 

“Never leaving you....don’t care...” 

“Yes...nev-,” Frederick tried to respond, but found Will’s tongue in his mouth instead. 

“Nothing. Mmm....don’t stop...” 

Frederick had managed to get a hand free, and snake it between their bodies. He was encouraging the erection that Will had started working on as soon as the bedroom door had closed. 

“I don’t care what happens...,” Will finally managed to get out, “I’m never leaving you. Mason can do what he likes...” 

“Please don’t talk about Mason,” Frederick pleaded. 

Will laughed and touched his nose to Frederick’s. He started giggling too, and before they knew it, they were laughing and rolling together on the bed, fighting with each other’s remaining articles of clothing.

With extraordinary coordination, Will managed to get hold of a bottle of lubricant on the bedside table, left there from last time they’d been together in this room. He slickened his hand as Frederick wrapped his legs around Will’s hips; he took both of their straining cocks together in his hand, and stroked them as Frederick writhed and gasped underneath him.

“Please...,” Frederick finally got out, in a drawn-out moan. 

Understanding precisely what he needed, Will moved his fingers down to Frederick’s entrance, and began deftly preparing him, stretching him gently but quickly. 

Shifting his hips insistently, Frederick wrapped his arms around Will’s upper body, drawing him in. Will penetrated him as slowly as he could, but couldn’t hold back for very long. Soon, he was thrusting firmly, long, deep strokes that Frederick met. Both hands went to the flexing muscles of Will’s ass, as incoherent words fell from both of their lips between crushing kisses. 

In turn, Will’s fingers were wound tightly through Frederick’s hair, his other hand pressing bruising fingers into the flesh of his thigh. The stress of the last several weeks was poured out, as they held each other furiously, desperately. Will drove ever harder into Frederick’s tight heat, and he buried his face against his neck as he began to cum. So long and hard, he lost the concept of time. Everything was just them, all sweetness and fire. 

Will slowed by degrees, and finally ceased his movements, panting atop Frederick, who was still holding him. Although his heart was racing, and he should have been exhausted, he felt renewed energy singing in his blood. He moved aside, and immediately began stroking Frederick’s aching cock.

 There was all the time in the world, today. Will teased him, speeding up, slowing down. He’d feel Frederick’s length pulsing in his hand, only to begin pressing into the leaking slit as he circled the head with forefinger and thumb.

Although he’d been sighing and moaning the entire time, Frederick hadn’t spoken a word. Will was caressing his face as well, watching every expression as it traveled across his face. The muscle movements weren’t as precise near the scar at his upper cheek, but the overall effect somehow intensified his look of strained passion. 

Finally, he looked up at Will, and their eyes met, Frederick’s pleading, pupils wide. 

“Please..,” he whispered hoarsely. 

“Please what?” Will asked darkly but playfully. 

“Please let me…let me cum…I need to…” 

Will had been waiting for this request, and complied at last. 

Frederick’s hips thrust wildly into Will’s tighter grip, and his back arched as his release was finally permitted. It was so strong, he blacked out for a few seconds. When he woke, he had the strangest feeling of astonishment mixed with relief. Will was smiling down at him. 

“I guess it had been a while…” Frederick said, trying to provide a logical explanation.

Will smiled more broadly, and rested his forehead against Frederick’s momentarily, before lying next to him. 

This seemed as good a time as any to Frederick, who was nearly bursting with what he needed to say. 

“Will…,” he began, after he caught his breath. “I wanted you to stay. But I didn’t want you to have to worry about me. I didn’t want to force you to, in any way. That’s something I would have done in the past.” 

“I know,” Will answered. “I thought about how you didn’t try to make me feel guilty, even though you were hurt and terrified. I could feel it. But you didn’t throw it in my face. That’s when I knew I’d be back. I had to make it right, with us.” 

Frederick’s hand had made its way to Will’s ribcage. He could feel his breath, regular and alive, and could feel his heart beating as he lay against him. He’d never felt so sure of anything in his life. 

“Will, I love you.” 

The response came without hesitation: “I love you, Frederick.” 

And that was it. No fanfare or nervousness. Simply the right time and place to say what they’d both felt coming upon them for a long time.

 

. . . . .

 

The next week went by in a blur of time; time spent alone for both Frederick and Will, preparing for the upcoming classes, and time spent together. Frederick’s thoughts often went to the idea of sharing space with Will. He imagined it would come to pass eventually, but for now, going to his house and having the dogs greet him more and more enthusiastically every time was enough. 

Will’s thoughts were parallel to Frederick’s; he couldn’t imagine leaving the spacious property he’d managed to make into a comfortable home for himself and the dogs, but there was something alluring about Frederick’s loft. They spent so many divine evenings on the roof terrace, drinking wine and kissing as the sun began to set. _It’s like going on vacation_ , he reflected. 

The both of them had overcome, survived, and did it together. Will believed that when the time came to contend with a change of living arrangements, it would be a small challenge at most. 

Frederick sat looking out a window watching for Will’s car to pull up to the building, Sigmund perched sleepily on his lap. He was uncharacteristically nervous about Will coming by that day. He would be on his way from a meeting with Jack Crawford, who had just returned the night before, from Italy. There, he had scattered the ashes of his wife, and had met with Hannibal Lecter, in prison. 

He saw Will’s car at last, and startled Sigmund, who grumpily got down and relocated on a sunny window perch. 

“Sorry,” Frederick mumbled to him, then laughed at the oddness of apologizing to a cat. 

Will came up quickly; he was practically bursting with news he wanted to share. 

He embraced Frederick, and held him close; he could feel that he was shaking a little. 

“Sit down with me, Frederick. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing specific, just a general sense of foreboding.” 

“It’s totally unwarranted, I can tell you that much.” 

Frederick relaxed a little at this, letting out a held sigh. “Ok, tell me. What did you find out?” 

Taking a deep breath, Will began. 

“Jack managed to get in to see him. The U.S. Government is not going to pursue extradition. They want him, but there’s too much fear over transferring him. They’re still afraid he’ll manage to kill a federal agent, so they’re leaving him to Italy. They don’t have the death penalty there, of course, and he’ll assuredly be found guilty. So there he will stay, unless he escapes of course. Oh, and Mason Verger has already tried to have him killed. He had one of the prison workers try to stab Hannibal, and that did not work out so well for him. Hannibal tore out his throat with his teeth. Jack talked to Margot, and Mason is furious. He’s finding it a lot harder to interfere from a distance.” 

Frederick was staring in disbelief. He finally spoke: “So he’s not going to be able to get to us? Ever? And Mason has no need to get you to do anything?” 

“More or less. Like I said, he’s going to be alive, so while that is the case, there’s always the chance he could get away. But I doubt it would be easy.” 

Pausing, there was one more thing that he needed to tell Frederick. 

“Jack said Hannibal had a message for me.” 

“What was it?” Frederick asked, worried for reasons he could not precisely pin down. 

“I don’t know. I told Jack I didn’t want to hear it, whatever it was.” 

Frederick leaned in to Will, touched his hand, tracing the bones of his fingers. He looked up, and found himself on the verge of sudden tears. Will kissed his cheek, and Frederick, suddenly finding his voice, said only “Thank you.”

 

. . . . .

 

Summer had begun to fade into fall; the arrival of October had brought a faint chill with it, as well as the scent of dying leaves. A smaller, less meaningful wrought iron fire pit had been the latest addition to Frederick’s terrace, but he and Will made more use of the one at Wolf Trap. 

The Academy had proven a good place to be for Frederick. He had fallen easily into teaching, although he only had two classes to start. The students were extremely polite, and a little bit intimidated by him. In much the same way there were scared of Will; any person who had survived Hannibal Lecter was worthy of great respect. 

Will and Frederick took every advantage of the time between those classes. Twice a week, they had a leisurely lunch break together, followed by stolen kisses in one or the other’s office.

 Once such day, they were leaving Will’s small space, together, and straightening clothing just as Jack Crawford rounded the corner. They were surprised to see him; he’d taken an extended leave, and wasn’t around very often. 

He saw them, and rolled his eyes. Both felt blushes rising to their cheeks. 

“I hope the students don’t see you like this, at least not very often,” Jack said. 

“Well, if they do, they’re too afraid of us to say anything,” Frederick said, clearing his throat. 

“Hmm. Well. That’s good at least. I have news. There’s been another attempt on Hannibal Lecter’s life.”

“This makes how many now? Four? Isn’t Mason getting bored of it?” Will asked.

“Presumably not. Anyway, it probably amuses Lecter. The incompetence. He only maimed this one.”

“Perhaps Mason’s assassin choices are getting better then,” Will added, sounding detached.

“I’m just here picking a few things up, and thought I’d let you know. I’ll be back more often in a month or two, and I don’t want to see any of _that_.” Jack pointed to Frederick’s shirt, which he’d buttoned incorrectly. Frederick looked appropriately abashed, but Will couldn’t help but notice that Jack was trying not to smile.

With that, he left, and Will had just enough time to walk Frederick out to his car before his next class began. They’d planned to spend the evening at his loft later on, and Frederick was about to go and pick up some of the first fall squash to prepare a new dish for them to try. Will was growing impressed with his improving culinary skills, though Frederick’s recipes tended towards the rustic rather than the complex.

Out in the parking lot, away from any students’ (or Jack’s) prying eyes, Will kissed him goodbye, and noticed that Frederick seemed uncharacteristically wistful.

“What is it?”

“It’s just....what Jack said. About, you know. What if he tires of these games of Mason’s and escapes? Comes back here?”

“There’s always that chance,” Will admitted. “There are few things in this world that are certain. But not nothing.”

“No,” Frederick said softly, kissing Will back. “Not nothing.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! I really want to thank all of you reading this, whether you found it recently, or have been with me since the beginning so long ago now. The idea of a Will/Frederick romance kind of nagged at my brain until I felt compelled to write it. I hope I have done it justice in your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song "Veteran of the Psychic Wars" by Blue Öyster Cult.


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